“Quite true,” Mont Rouge assented in his most cynical tone. “But don’t spill the wine on the dice, dear friend.”
“But how did you learn?” several voices demanded.
“As one always does, from another woman, of course.” Mont Rouge was carelessly rattling the dice-box.
“And you believe it?”
“Certainly. Your turn to throw, Des Forges. Gad! your hand is shaky to-night. Why should I not believe it? The Marquise, I suppose, is like the rest of her sex, and,” he laughed softly, “the Chevalier is—the Chevalier.”
Des Forges sniggered fatuously. “Sixes—s-sixes. Name of St. Denys! You speak like a m-married m-man, Mont Ro-ouge.”
“What is Mont Rouge’s last scandal?” André had entered.
Half a dozen tongues eager with malice repeated the story. There was a pause. Denise stood thrilled. Her fate was in his hands.
“This is not scandal,” André said slowly and very clearly. “It is a lie.”
Chairs were excitedly pushed back. Dice-boxes and a table rolled over. Then dead silence.