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"What manner of a swindle is this," I asked, "In which you, Louis, poor Bartot, the Chinese ambassador, and Heaven knows how many more, are concerned?" "You are an ignorant person to use such words!" Delora replied. "Tell me, at least," I begged, "whether your niece is implicated in this?" "Why do you ask?" Delora exclaimed. "Because I want to marry her," I answered.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "if Monsieur Bartot is your lover, be thankful that you have nothing with which to reproach yourself." I rang the bell. She looked at me for a moment with eyes filled with a genuine fear. Obviously she did not understand my attitude. From my trousers pocket I drew a little revolver, whose settings and mechanism I carefully examined.
Still, if you are really curious, mademoiselle will satisfy you later." I saw a look pass between the two, and I no longer had any doubt whatever. I knew that they were in collusion, that I had been brought here to be pumped by mademoiselle. "Monsieur," Bartot said, "you are apparently armed, and you can leave this room if you will, but I warn you that you will not leave Paris so easily."
So far as I am concerned," I added, glancing at the table, "mademoiselle has lunched alone." "If I could believe that!" Bartot muttered, with a look of coming friendship in his eyes. "Mademoiselle will assure you," I continued. "Then what are you doing here?" he asked. I raised my eyebrows. "I was not aware," I said, "that this was a private restaurant."
I watched her whisper to him; I watched his expression anxious and perturbed at first, doubtful, even, after her reassuring words. He looked down the room to where Bartot was standing. It seemed to me, even then, that he ventured to protest, but mademoiselle frowned and spoke to him sharply. He caught up a wine list and came to our table.
The girl was leaning forward in her place, with her fingers upon the table, and her dark eyes riveted with horrible intensity upon the fallen figure. I saw mademoiselle the turquoise-covered friend of Bartot. She, too, was leaning forward, but her eyes ignored the man upon the floor, and were seeking to meet mine.
"Let us leave these topics. I am not interested in the Deloras, or Louis, or Monsieur Bartot. Last night is finished, and to-morrow I leave. Let us talk for a few moments of ourselves." She held up her finger suddenly. "Listen!" she exclaimed, in a voice of terror. Footsteps had halted outside the door. She ran to the window and looked down.
I have been assured that association with you is the first step toward my undoing. Monsieur Bartot, for all his bluster, seemed very anxious to be friendly." "It was the girl!" Louis exclaimed. "Bartot was too big a fool to understand!" I sighed. "I fear that I am in the same position as Monsieur Bartot," I said. "I do not understand!" There was a warning cry.
They were like wild animals, indeed, Louis silent, composed, serene, yet with a jaguar-like glare in his eyes, his body poised, as though to spring or defend himself, as circumstances might dictate. Bartot, who had risen to his feet, was like a clumsy but powerful beast, showing his fierce primitivism through the disguise of clothes and his falsely human form.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "I am sorry that our pleasant little conversation has been interrupted. Believe me, though, to be always your devoted slave." I opened the door. Monsieur Bartot turned towards me. I am convinced that he was about to offer me his hand and to call for that bottle of wine. I felt, however, that flight was safest. I went out and closed the door.
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