"You spoke about ignominy just now," said Jack. "I don't know whether your interpretation of the phrase is the same as mine. But a British soldier—for I, too, am a soldier—considers that there is no greater ignominy than that of being suspected of cowardice. I should be a coward if I cared for your threats. I'm going to get a light."
"Pardon me. You are a brave man. I did wrong to threaten you." Jack heard the sword return to its scabbard. "Let me appeal to your honour."
"That is an appeal which has never been made to me in vain."
"My visit here has been a secret. I wish it to remain so. This much only I may tell you—that I am an officer in the French army, enjoying a position of great responsibility and trust. You see the risk I have run."
Jack started. This man had indeed risked much to see the last of the woman he loved.
"You say that your visit here is a secret one; and yet you reproached me just now with being a thief in the night. I will not retaliate; for I too can respect a brave man. I will only say that your confidence will not be betrayed."
Jack stretched out his hand. It was again clasped by the stranger. They stood thus for a moment, hand in hand, over the dead.
Then the stranger bent, and Jack could hear him whispering terms of endearment to ears that could not hear, and pressing kisses upon lips that could not respond.
"Now, Monsieur, I am going," he said, at length. "I thank you for your patience, and will send up the concierge with a light. You will then be able to read this letter. Oblige me by taking it. From it you will see who is the most entitled to her love. It was the last letter she ever wrote. You say you are a soldier? Eh, bien, when next we meet, Monsieur, it will be in a different place. As we have learned to respect each other, I hope to show that respect in the best way a soldier can—by crossing swords with you. Jusqu'au revoir!"
