“You had my uncle’s letter?”
“And I answered it.”
“I know. But what he said, he will fulfil. Do not dream that he will relent if you carry out this horrible purpose.”
“Come, now, that is a better reason than the other,” said he. “If there is a reason in the world that could move me it would be that. But there is too much between La Tour d’Azyr and me. There is an oath I swore on the dead hand of Philippe de Vilmorin. I could never have hoped that God would afford me so great an opportunity of keeping it.”
“You have not kept it yet,” she warned him.
He smiled at her. “True!” he said. “But nine o’clock will soon be here. Tell me,” he asked her suddenly, “why did you not carry this request of yours to M. de La Tour d’Azyr?”
“I did,” she answered him, and flushed as she remembered her yesterday’s rejection. He interpreted the flush quite otherwise.
“And he?” he asked.
“M. de La Tour d’Azyr’s obligations...” she was beginning: then she broke off to answer shortly: “Oh, he refused.”
“So, so. He must, of course, whatever it may have cost him. Yet in his place I should have counted the cost as nothing. But men are different, you see.” He sighed. “Also in your place, had that been so, I think I should have left the matter there. But then...”