“It interests you more closely now, Monsieur?” she asked.
“Suzanne,” he cried, coming a step nearer, and speaking eagerly; “he knows my whereabouts. He brought me here himself. Are you mad, girl, that you can sit there so composedly and tell me this?”
“What else would you have me do?” she inquired.
“Do? Why, leave Choisy at once. Come; be stirring. In God's name, girl, bethink you that we have not a moment to lose. I know these Republicans, and how far they are to be trusted. This fellow would betray me to save his skin with as little compunction as—”
“You fool!” she broke in, an undercurrent of fierce indignation vibrating through her scorn. “What are you saying? He would betray you? He?” She tossed her arms to Heaven, and burst into a laugh of infinite derision. “Have no fear of that, M. le Vicomte, for you are dealing with a nature of a nobility that you cannot so much as surmise. If he were minded to betray you, why did he not do so to-day, when they offered him his liberty in exchange for information that would lead to your recapture?”
“But although he may have refused to-day,” returned the Vicomte frenziedly, “he may think better of it to-morrow-perhaps even tonight. Ciel! Think of the risk we run; already it may be too late. Oh, why,” he demanded reproachfully, “why didn't you listen to me when, days ago, I counselled flight?”
“Because it neither was, nor is, my intention to fly.”
“What?” he cried, and, his jaw fallen and his eyes wide, he regarded her. Then suddenly he caught her by the arm and shook her roughly. “Are you mad?” he cried, in a frenzy of anger and fear. “Am I to die like a dog that a scum of a Republican may save his miserable neck? Is this canaille of a revolutionist to betray me to his rabble Tribunal?”
“Already have I told you that you need fear no betrayal.”
“Need I not?” he sneered. “Ma foi! but I know these ruffians. There is not an ounce of honour in the whole National Convention.”