THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
was true then. I might have suspected it before, but was it possible that I cared?
"Good God!" exclaimed my father, and pushed back his chair.
Mademoiselle rested her chin on the palm of her hand.
"I told you the interview would not be pleasant," she said. "But you are pessimistic, captain. I have not said I loved you. Do not be alarmed. I was going to say I pitied you. That was all."
"Mon Dieu," my father murmured. "It is worse." And yet I thought I detected a note of relief in his voice. "Surely I am not as old as that."
Mademoiselle, whose eyes had never left his face, smiled and shook her head.
"I know what you are thinking," she said. "No, no, captain. It is not the beginning of a melodramatic speech. I am not offering pity to the villain in the story. Even the first night I met you, I was sorry for you, captain. I was sorry as soon as I saw your eyes. I knew then that something had happened, and when I heard you speak, I told myself you were not to blame for it. I still believe you were not to blame. You see, I know your story now."
"Indeed?" said my father. "And you still
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