She stopped him with an impatient gesture of her hand. Even where she stood in the half light I saw the red rush to her cheeks at his last words; and then she asked:
"Monsieur Broussel, I too have been learning, or rather guessing, at some things since I came down here. Is it you that Monsieur le Vicomte has to thank for his life?"
I did not answer; but De Ganache began to speak as one defending himself:
"I do thank him; but when I told you of this I did not know Monsieur
Broussel's name, Diane."
"All this does not concern the matter," I cut in. "What mademoiselle has to decide is whether she will go on to Paris or not. Which shall it be?" And I faced her.
A little silence, and her eyes refused to meet mine. Then she said faintly: "I—I do not know."
All depended on a single turn, but it was De Ganache himself who threw his cards away. Stepping up to mademoiselle he put his arm through hers, and with an air of command, almost proprietorship, he said:
"Come, Diane, we waste time here, and we have far to go. I shall give
Monsieur Broussel his thanks another day."
She looked up at him—such a look!—and withdrew her arm.
"Monsieur de Ganache," she said, "you take too much on yourself. I have decided, and I shall go to Paris."