“Yes, I saw them with my own eyes riding together in the Row.”
Lord Francis started as if he had been stung. “Come here!” he said. There was a garden bench in a little recess, and he threw himself down upon it. Lucille de Vigny seated herself beside him, and a triumphant smile played over her dark and beautiful face as she marked with a sidelong glance the anger and chagrin which convulsed her companion’s features.
“Is this true?” he cried.
“I tell you, Frank, that I saw them with my own eyes. It is not my custom to say what is not true.”
“They were riding together?”
“Yes.”
“And talking?”
“Talking and laughing.”
“By heavens, I will see that fellow De Mürger. I will shoot him, Lucille. It is not our custom in England to duel. But he is a foreigner. He will meet me. I have wished to avoid a scandal, but if they court one why should I spare them? In the Row, you say?”
“Yes, and just when all the world was there.”