"The very best; she finds me unendurable."
"Philosophy shirks the solving of that problem, your
Excellency," was the cold reply.
"No, it is easy. The woman to be trusted is she who never trusts."
"The paragon--or prodigy--who is she?"
"Even Madame Jamond."
"She danced for you once, your Excellency, they tell me."
"She was a devil that night; she drove us mad."
So Doltaire had not given up the secret of that affair! There
was silence for a moment, and then the Chevalier said, "Her father
will not let her go to a nunnery--no, no. Why should he yield to
the Church in this?"
Bigot shrugged a shoulder. "Not even to hide--shame?"
"Liar--ruffian!" said I through my teeth. The Chevalier answered
for me:
"I would stake my life on her truth and purity."
"You forget the mock marriage, dear Chevalier."
"It was after the manner of his creed and people."
"It was after a manner we all have used at times."
"Speak for yourself, your Excellency," was the austere reply.
Nevertheless, I could see that the Chevalier was much troubled.
"She forgot race, religion, people--all, to spend still hours with
a foreign spy in prison," urged Bigot, with damnable point and
suggestion.
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