"
"Not about my marriage, monsieur."
"Why not? I am responsible. I let you saddle yourself with the
situation. You did it partly to save me. You are always doing some
crack-brained thing like that. I tell you, you are more a fool than I
ever knew. Perhaps that is the reason that we all went into mourning
when we thought the Iroquois had you."
"Monsieur! Monsieur!"
"No, wait, wait! I got you into this, I shall get you out. Unless the
Indians make trouble I shall send Starling home with a convoy of my own
Indians. Your--the woman shall go with him. Then we will see what can
be done about the marriage. The story shall go to the Vatican."
I moved the candles that I might see his face without the play of light
and shadow between.
"Monsieur, you forget. The story that you speak of is mine. If I wish
to refer it to the Vatican, I, myself, take it there. As to Madame de
Montlivet,--she may wish to go east with her cousin; she may wish to
remain here. The decision will rest with her. Monsieur?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I may depend on you not to mention what we have just said to any one?"
He gave me his hand. "Naturally, monsieur."
His tone touched me.
"Then to to-morrow's work," I said briskly.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336