Barrington sat down, and with his elbows on the table supported his chin in his hands. In this position he looked fixedly at his companion, and neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Latour sat down on the opposite side of the table.
"I see how it is, Monsieur Barrington, you do not believe me. I am not surprised. I am sufficiently well known in Paris for you to have discovered, if you have taken the slightest trouble to inquire, that I am a red republican, anathema to those who desire milder methods, a bloodhound where aristocrats are concerned. Still, I did not know who was in that coach any more than you did."
"If you had known?" asked Barrington.
"I should still have put out my hand to preserve your life."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
"You would not have rushed with me into that crowd, thinking of nothing but the woman in the coach."
"What should make you think so?"
"You forget perhaps that you told me there was a woman, an aristocrat, for whom you would do much," said Barrington.
"I do not forget, but the will to do much does not mean the will to die for her."