they had signed, was at Blanzy, and your father had
agreed to rescue it in case of accident. He would not leave me, Monsieur,
and he would not destroy the paper."

She paused, and regarded me with a frown that had more of curiosity in it
than displeasure.

"It was all well enough," she added, "until he heard of you, until you
and he had dinner. It is something you did, something you said, that has
made it all different. I ask you--what have you done to him? He was our
friend before he saw you. Or why would he have ridden through half of
France with Napoleon's police a half a league behind him? Why did he risk
everything to bring out the paper when he might have burned it? Why did
he not sell it there? He might have done so half a dozen times. Why does
he wait till now?

"Do you know what I would say if you were older and less transparent? Do
you know?"

An imperious, ringing note had entered into her voice, which made me
regard her with a sudden doubt. About her was the same charm and mystery
that had held me silent and curious, the same unnatural assurance, and
cold disregard of her surroundings; but her eyes had grown watchful and
unfriendly.

"I would say that you had turned him against us, and if you had--"

"Mademoiselle is overwrought," I said.

She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently, and compressed her lips.

"I am never overwrought," said Mademoiselle. "It is a luxury my family
has not been allowed for many years. I say your father was an honest man,
as men go, and a brave one too, and that you have changed him, and I warn
you to leave him alone in the future. You do not know him, or how to deal
with him. I tell you his trifling about the paper is a passing phase, and
that you must not disturb him. No, no, do not protest. I know well enough
you are not to blame. You must leave him to me. That is all."

"It pains me not to do as Mademoiselle suggests," I said.

"You mean you will not?" she flashed back at me angrily.

"I mean I will not," I answered with sudden heat, "No," I added more
harshly, as she attempted to interrupt, "Now you will listen to me. You
say I am a fool. You say I can do nothing against him. Perhaps not,
Mademoiselle, but what I see is this: I see you in a dangerous situation
through no fault of your own, and whether you wish it or not, I am going
to get you out of it. He has done enough, Mademoiselle, and this is going
to be the end. By heaven, if he looks at you again--"