THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE
“But you, monsieur, will be there—you will not permit—”
“Madame has a too generous confidence in my competency.”
“Ah, it is for you to be generous. A man who can win so great a victory can afford to be kind.” She put her hands forward in the act of supplication, and in doing so the wrap slipped from the shoulder and arm it had so scrupulously hidden. A cloth, dull and blurred with red, was wrapped half-way between the elbow and the shoulder. When he saw that dark patch, his cool composure fell from him like a mantle and he bent forward eagerly, all his perceptions aquiver with sensibility.
“Sainte Vierge!” he whispered. “How came you by that?”
“It is nothing,” she said, drawing back at his ardor. “A scratch of broken glass. That is all.”
He bent to the deck for the erring silk. “I did not know,” he stammered, his voice mellow with sympathy. “I did not know. Forgive me, madame.”
195
