‘Or take it this way,’ he continued flippantly, ‘Suppose I had struck you in the back this evening in that cursed swamp by the river, M. de Berault? What then! PARDIEU, I am astonished at myself that I did not do it. I could have been in Montauban within twenty-four hours, and found fifty hiding-places and no one the wiser.’
‘Except your sister,’ I said quietly.
He made a wry face. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am afraid that I must have stabbed her too, to preserve my self-respect. You are right.’ And he fell into a reverie which held him for a few minutes. Then I found him looking at me with a kind of frank perplexity that invited question.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘You have fought a great many duels?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Did you ever strike a foul blow in one?’
‘Never,’ I answered. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, because I—wanted to confirm an impression. To be frank, M. de Berault, I seem to see in you two men.
‘Two men?’