“If I were captured here, I should get Monsieur de St. Gré into trouble; and besides,” he said, with a touch of coldness, “I cannot be beholden to Monsieur de St. Gré. I cannot remain on his land.”
“As for getting Monsieur de St. Gré into trouble, his own son could not involve him with the Baron,” answered Madame la Vicomtesse. “And it seems to me, Monsieur, that you are already so far beholden to Monsieur de St. Gré that you cannot quibble about going a little more into his debt. Come, Mr. Temple, how has Monsieur de St. Gré ever offended you?”
“Madame—” he began.
“Monsieur,” she said, with an air not to be denied, “I believe I can discern a point of honor as well as you. I fail to see that you have a case.”
He was indeed no match for her. He turned to me appealingly, his brows bent, but I had no mind to meddle. He swung back to her.
“But Madame—!” he cried.
She was arranging the cards neatly on the table.
“Monsieur, you are tiresome,” she said. “What is it now?”
He took a step toward her, speaking in a low tone, his voice shaking. But, true to himself, he spoke plainly. As for me, I looked on frightened,—as though watching a contest,—almost agape to see what a clever woman could do.
“There is—Mademoiselle de St. Gré—”