But the lady philanthropist had neither the eyes to see nor the intelligence to understand. Instead she clumsily parried with invisible forces. “Of course you don’t mean that, Captain Fauchet. You are just making believe you are a wicked man. I believe you are trying to stuff me, as our American slang puts it. Now if a wounded German came running toward you crying Kamerad—”
“Sacrebleu! Oui, madame, once I listen to that Kamerad. But now—jamais! When they call it with their lying tongues I shout them back ‘Kamerad to hell!’ and I zigeuille.” The right hand made a swift, subtle twist with a deep thrust. It took little imagination to guess what it was supposed to be holding. For a second Monsieur Satan’s eyes still continued to blaze at the woman before him; then he tossed back his head, plunged through the crowd, and was gone.
“A devil of a Blue Devil,” quoted Peter under his breath. “Our friend, Monsieur Marchand, was not indulging in hyperbole after all.”
Sheila watched him go and said nothing.
That twilight, when Monsieur Satan joined her, he looked as harmless as ever, only a trifle more bashful. “Perhaps ma’am’selle will care no longer to promenade with the wicked man. N’est ce pas?”
“A brave man,” corrected Sheila, and she looked straight into the black eyes. “A brave man who has given himself body and soul to France.”
“Body and soul. Oui, ma’am’selle. But listen—there is something—” His face changed in a breath, the eyes were blazing again, the mouth had turned as sinister as his nom de guerre signified. But something in Sheila’s eyes checked him. He put out a hand unconsciously and laid it on her as though to steady himself. “Non, ma’am’selle. One need not tell everything. You will see enough—enough.”
When they landed, his good-bys to her were curiously brief. He held her hand a second as if he would have said a great deal; then with a quick “Au ’voir” he flung it from him and was down the gangway. But with Peter it was different. He found him alone and vouchsafed him for the first time what might have been called conversation.
“I do not know until yesterday that you were betrothed to Ma’am’selle O’Leary. That is so?”
Peter nodded.