“Ah, monsieur! I think—perhaps—that I comprehend.”
Lafetre had regained his feet by this time, and both were rapidly resuming their outer clothing. To this last remark Nick did not reply. He waited to see what the Frenchman would have to say next.
“It is the madame; no? The lady who came over the sea with Monsieur Jean? Yes?”
Nick nodded an affirmative.
“Monsieur is—perhaps—a relative? No? A brother, a—can it be that monsieur is the husband of madame?”
“No,” said Nick. “I am none of those; but I am her defender. I have come here to rescue her. To take her away. To restore her to her friends.”
“And I am gladdened. I am content. It is as it should be. I, myself—I, Antoine Lafetre, should have constituted myself her defender as soon as possible. Only to-day—this afternoon—the madame took me into her confidence. She told me of the friends who love her, who are on the other side of the water—in America, where I should so much like to go.”
“Would you, indeed?” asked Nick. “Then give me a helping hand in this matter, and you shall return with me. And I think I can promise you that your art will bring you in a big revenue over there, from those whom you will teach to fence.”
“I thank you, monsieur. Perhaps, after I have performed the service which monsieur asks of me, I shall have the honor to accept monsieur’s offer. But now—see!”