“You see,” continued de Meneval, “the story is very liable to get into the newspapers—extremely liable, I may say. It will be something like this—that Monsieur Bouchard held Captain and Madame de Meneval so tight that they were compelled to let Monsieur Bouchard have Madame’s diamond necklace for a small loan—and the newspapers will probably make it out to be Léontine’s wardrobe and my watch and chain besides.”
De Meneval paused—the fellow knew when to stop. Monsieur Bouchard, swelling with rage, paused too—and then, taking out his cheque book, angrily wrote a cheque for a thousand francs, which he handed Captain de Meneval in exchange for a sheaf of bills produced by the captain.
“Before paying another franc, I shall go out to the Pigeon House and investigate the whole business,” said Monsieur Bouchard, savagely.
“Ta, ta!” called out the graceless dog of a captain, picking up his hat. “Remember, you are on your good behavior. One single indiscretion at the Pigeon House and I’ll telegraph the whole story to Mademoiselle Bouchard, and then——”
Papa Bouchard simply sat and swelled the more with rage at the unabashed front of this captain of artillery—but he was galvanized into motion by a light tap on the door and a musical voice calling:
“Are you in, Papa Bouchard?”
Although all the fulminations of Monsieur Bouchard had failed to affect Captain de Meneval, the sound of that voice flurried him considerably. For it was Léontine’s, and de Meneval had no particular desire for an interview with her under Papa Bouchard’s basilisk eye. He turned quite pale, did this robust captain, and muttered:
“I don’t want to be caught here.”
Papa Bouchard smiled in a superior manner—he rather liked the notion of de Meneval being caught there—and called out to Léontine: