"As a patriot it would be well to think no more of mademoiselle," Latour went on. "Such love is unnatural the people will affirm. Are there not women in Paris as beautiful? Find one to love and there will be proof of your patriotism."
"You take much interest in me," said Bruslart.
"Is there not a kind of friendship between us?" was the reply. "Were I Lucien Bruslart, I should leave Paris. I know a man who would do something to help him."
Bruslart looked at him steadily for a moment. "Again I thank you," he said quietly, "but, my friend, you are not the only man who is competent to prophesy in what direction things may turn. You have set yourself a goal to win, so have I. It would almost seem that you expect our aims to clash."
"Diable! Is that all you can see in good advice," said Latour. "I thought your wit went deeper."
"Need we quarrel?" said Bruslart.
"No; let us laugh at each other. In our different ways, doubtless, we shall both be satisfied."
Latour did not often laugh, but he laughed now as he turned to the door. The curtains over the archway leading to an inner room swayed outwards with the draught as he opened the door, and then seemed to draw back suddenly, as Latour said good-by, still laughing. The door was closed, the footsteps went quickly down the stairs, the curtains hung straight for a little space. Then they parted sharply, and a woman, holding them on either side of her, stood between them.