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But a certain contempt had always mingled with my anger, and I had never really been afraid of him. Yet in the count's declaration of Brunow's belief that Miss Rossano was not indifferent to him I could see more than a touch of reason.
The lady was seated in her rich dress in the common room, and she and Brunow were talking like old friends. Brunow's anger was no more lasting than a child's, and by this time he had quite recovered his good-humor. "Oh, here you are, old fellow," he cried, genially. "Baroness, permit me to introduce to you Captain Fyffe. Fyffe, this is the Baroness Bonnar."
That sounds ungrateful to him, for I owe him an enormous service; but there are duties which transcend gratitude, and this is one of them. I have surprised your sentiments, and have extorted a confession from you. I ask you now to authorize me to lay before my daughter your case and Mr. Brunow's side by side. I will tell her, if you prefer it, precisely what passed between us.
He advanced, and I read treason in his face. "My dear Fyffe," he cried, holding out his hand to me, "I had never hoped to see you alive again." This time it was I who refused to see Brunow's hand, as he, only a few hours ago, had declined to see mine. If I had laid bare his villainy there and then, I have no shadow of doubt that there would have been murder done.
But, after all, mercy is just as much a duty as justice, and on looking back I am not disposed to censure myself very heavily for the course I took. I can think of nothing more hateful than Brunow's crime, and of nothing more just than the punishment which finally befell him; but I am glad that the act of vengeance was not mine.
"The count," I said, still less than doubtful of the truth of Brunow's story "the count must have been a man of unusual importance to the political party to be remembered with such a passionate devotion after so many years." "God bless your soul," cried Brunow, "it was devotion! Those Austrian fellows are as cunning as the devil.
Why hasn't he brought the things back as he was told to do?" Hinge said nothing, but looked from me to my visitor in some bewilderment. "You hear!" cried Brunow, rising and throwing the stump of his cigar into the grate with a sickly pretence of anger. "Beg your pardon, sir," said Hinge; "there's Mr. Brunow's key, sir. Seems to me I've been sent on a fool's errand. Mr.
This unlooked-for episode being over, and the deputation of ladies having been dismissed with roaring "vivas," we went back to business. I noticed that Brunow's earlier awkwardness of manner had given way to a mood and aspect of great elation. But of course I was without the key to the understanding of the situation, and his change of temper had no significance for me.
"Without this," she went on, "I should have had no faith in Mr. Brunow's statement; but I have compared it with old letters of my father's, and I have no doubt that it was written by his hand.
The wretched man had never been allowed a minute's exercise outside his cell, and Brunow's pretence of having seen him was, of course, an invention. That did not surprise me, but I hated Brunow for it. The man's shallow and worthless spirit could go hovering about a tragedy like this with his butterfly irresponsible lies. The thought made me angry.
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