“By invitation of those most concerned, Monsieur,” I answered, for I could have throttled him.
Auguste had developed. He had learned well that effrontery is often the best weapon of an adventurer. He turned from me disdainfully, petulantly, and addressed the Vicomtesse once more.
“I wish to be alone with Antoinette,” he said.
“No doubt,” said the Vicomtesse.
“I demand it,” said Auguste.
“The demand is not granted,” said the Vicomtesse; “that is why we have come. Your sister has already made enough sacrifices for you. I know you, Monsieur Auguste de St. Gré,” she continued with quiet contempt. “It is not for love of Antoinette that you have sought this meeting. It is because,” she said, riding down a torrent of words which began to escape from him, “it is because you are in a predicament, as usual, and you need money.”
“Hélène!”
It was Antoinette who spoke. She had risen, and was standing behind Auguste. She still held the leather bag in her hand.
“Perhaps the sum is not enough,” she said; “he has to get to France. Perhaps we could borrow more until my father comes home.” She looked questioningly at us.
Madame la Vicomtesse was truly a woman of decision. Without more ado she took the bag from Antoinette's unresisting hands and put it into mine. I was no less astonished than the rest of them.