started and gave back, for he had not
perceived me. He recovered his balance, such as it was, instantly.

"Monsieur seems to take an extraordinary interest in my affairs," he
said jauntily.

"Only when they are to the detriment of other persons who are my
friends," I said.

"Monsieur has intruded in a family matter," said Auguste, grandly, still
in French.

"By invitation of those most concerned, Monsieur," I answered, for I
could have throttled him.

Auguste had developed. He had learned well that effrontery is often
the best weapon of an adventurer. He turned from me disdainfully,
petulantly, and addressed the Vicomtesse once more.

"I wish to be alone with Antoinette," he said.

"No doubt," said the Vicomtesse.

"I demand it," said Auguste.

"The demand is not granted," said the Vicomtesse; "that is why we have
come. Your sister has already made enough sacrifices for you. I know
you, Monsieur Auguste de St. Gre," she continued with quiet contempt.
"It is not for love of Antoinette that you have sought this meeting.
It is because," she said, riding down a torrent of words which began to
escape from him, "it is because you are in a predicament, as usual, and
you need money."

It was Antoinette who spoke. She had risen, and was standing behind
Auguste. She still held the leather bag in her hand.

"Perhaps the sum is not enough," she said; "he has to get to France.
Perhaps we could borrow more until my father comes home." She looked
questioningly at us.

Madame la Vicomtesse was truly a woman of decision. Without more ado she
took the bag from Antoinette's unresisting hands and put it into mine. I
was no less astonished than the rest of them.

"Mr. Ritchie will keep this until the negotiations are finished," said
the Vicomtesse.

"Negotiations!" cried Auguste, beside himself. "This is insolence,
Madame."

"Be careful, sir," I said.

"Auguste!" cried Antoinette, putting her hand on his arm.

"Why did you tell them?" he demanded, turning on her.

"Because I trust them, Auguste," Antoinette answered. She spoke without
anger, as one whose sorrow has put her beyond it. Her speech had
a dignity and force which might have awed a worthier man. His
disappointment and chagrin brought him beyond bounds.

"You trust them!" he cried, "you trust them when they tell you to give
your brother, who is starving and in peril of his life, eight hundred
livres? Eight hundred livres, pardieu, and your brother!"

"It