By this time Nick had risen, and he, too, was staring at her. How he managed to appear so well dressed was a puzzle to me.
“Madame,” he said, bowing, “I beg your pardon. I thought you were that—I beg your pardon.”
“I understand your feelings, sir,” answered the Vicomtesse as she courtesied.
“Egad,” said Nick, and looked at her again. “Egad, I'll be hanged if it's not—”
It was the first time I had seen the Vicomtesse in confusion. And indeed if it were confusion she recovered instantly.
“You will probably be hanged, sir, if you do not mend your company,” she said. “Do you not think so, Mr. Ritchie?”
“Davy!” he cried. And catching sight of me in the doorway, over her shoulder, “Has he followed me here too?” Running past the Vicomtesse, he seized me in his impulsive way and searched my face. “So you have followed me here, old faithful! Madame,” he added, turning to the Vicomtesse, “there is some excuse for my getting into trouble.”
“What excuse, Monsieur?” she asked. She was smiling, yet looking at us with shining eyes.
“The pleasure of having Mr. Ritchie get me out,” he answered. “He has never failed me.”
“You are far from being out of this,” I said. “If the Baron de Carondelet does not hang you or put you in the Morro, you will not have me to thank. It will be Madame la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour.”