MONSIEUR LEARNS SOMETHING
ears. He could hardly believe that he had heard aright.
“You serve—?” he stammered.
“Have I not said that every livre of my fortune—”
“Yes. But, madame—to serve!—you!—”
“Is it so strange? Would you have me take that which is not mine? No, monsieur, I am no thief.”
Bras-de-Fer had turned resolutely towards the bulwarks with a mind more turbulent even than the seething waters below him. In the turmoil of his emotions he knew not which way to turn, what to say or what to do. The plan that he had marked for himself was becoming every moment less and less distinct.
It was with an effort that he turned towards her, his resolution giving him an implacability he was far from feeling.
“Madame, your probity does you credit. Were your judgment as unerring as your honesty, I had not left London. As it is, I’ve no mind to return.”
“Monsieur,” she faltered—“monsieur—”
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