“I have no right to doubt the word of a man of honour.”
“Pooh, pooh, don’t stand on stilts, there’s a good man. I am not a man of honour, in the world’s sense, as you know perfectly well. But I am a good fellow, when people trust me and treat me well; and I have not behaved badly to you in serious matters. As for anything I said, I only know that I was in a demon’s temper, and I heartily apologise to you for every word. What more can I say?”
“I do not claim to ask so much.”
“Come, Silvain, you are not so brave a man as I believed you, if that little affair with the foils rankles in your mind. You are a much better fencer than I am, but that day I suppose the devil that was in my heart did me the favour to help my hand, in the hope that I might do a friend some deadly harm. But I was luckier than Faust.”
“There is an end of the affair, M. Adair.”
“That is well,” said the other, again shaking hands, “and now walk with me, or I will walk with you—where are you going?”
“I was returning home; but I have no errand of importance.”
“Then come my way, for a stroll. And before we say any more, I feel that you were so right in your anger at my hasty conduct to Matilde, that I do not know what amends to make. I can only say that though I knew you were paying her attention, I had no idea that it was an affair of heart, or I should have respected it. Make my peace with her, and trust to my good behaviour for the future.”
“I will endeavour to do so, Monsieur.”
“Very well,” replied Adair, “and we will drop the question. I hate to quarrel with anybody, but my impulses are always leading me into scrapes. If I ask how business prospers, you will construe it into an indiscretion.”
“No, Monsieur, not after your frank assurances. I am glad to say that the business is satisfactory. I have just had a handsome order from the house of M. Urquhart.”
“I am glad to hear it. But that you owe, of course, to the good offices of Mademoiselle.”
“I should be proud to owe her anything,” said Silvain, “but I do not think I am her debtor in this case.”
“No. Come, don’t look so mysterious. Have we made an impression in a higher quarter? Ah, Silvain, what chances our profession has.”
“I dare not flatter myself to that extent,” said Silvain, with a smile. “And the lady who has honoured me with her commands is an acquaintance of your own—the lady from England.”
“Eh,” said Adair, quickly. “Madame Lygon.”
“A charming lady.”
“So she is, very charming, worth a dozen of her sitter. So—she has given you a handsome order. I see,” said Ernest.
And he smiled, for a moment, as one who imagines himself to be detecting the spring of a device against him.
“A hundred and fifty francs, or more,” said Silvain, complacently.
“What caprice! Have not Atkinson’s and Rimmel’s, scent-men of London, better than all the sweet waters of Paris?” said Adair, with one of his favourite irreverences of memory. “But I rejoice in a friend’s luck. And perhaps you may owe it to me,” he added.
“How so?”
“Madame knows that we are acquainted, and may mean a delicate attention to me,” said the other, eyeing Silvain keenly.
“I should be glad to think so,” said Silvain, “but nothing of the kind was said to me.”
“Of course,” said Ernest. “Women can, sometimes, hold their tongues at the proper time. Come, my dear Silvain, this is a noble proof of your loyalty to me. You understand the object of the lady’s order just as well as I do, and you tell me of it. That is a brave forgiveness of wrongs.”
“You pay me an unmerited compliment, M. Adair.”
“I will not hear you say so. Mrs. Lygon knows of our intimacy, and favours you with this order to ensure your giving Mademoiselle exact information as to anything I may do. Well, you will not be party to any scheme against your friend, and you reveal the fact of the bribe. You shall be rewarded for your devotion, and you shall earn more orders.”
“How you see through everything,” said Silvain, with a look of admiration. “I swear to you that I did not regard the matter in that way. Ah! you are happy to have interested such a creature as Madame.”
“We will not be vain,” said Adair, caressing his moustache, and taking a sharp side-glance at his companion.
“I never saw a better excuse for vanity,” said Silvain.
“Come, come, my friend. I am going to be jealous. Do not be so earnest on the beauty of Madame. What would Mademoiselle say?”
Silvain shrugged his shoulders.
“Mademoiselle, however, admires her as much as you do,” continued Ernest. “Regards her as an angel.”
“I have reason to believe to the contrary,” said Silvain.
Again the keen eye was turned upon him, but j the Frenchman affected to look inscrutable.
“Does not admire her?” said Ernest.
“You can conceive that I am not at liberty to repeat anything that Mademoiselle may have confided to me, and I might injure her with Madame Urquhart by indiscretion. But I have a right to form an impression of my own.”
“Which is that Matilde does not like Madame.”
“I will not say that. But the coldness with which she received my praises of the English lady, and I swear to you, M. Adair,” said Silvain, with well acted warmth, “that she is divine—this astonished me in a young person of good taste—”
“For she had eyes and chose you,” quoted Ernest.
“And,” said Silvain, “this left me to draw an inference, which I will reserve until I know more of the matter.”
“You are too honest and honourable a fellow to be a good deceiver,” said Ernest Adair, “and