Pierre had revealed to him.
"Do you care? Would you rather put out the lights and go to bed?"
He shook his head. "No. I am glad. I was beastly lonesome. I had
an idea--"
He was on the point of blundering again when he caught himself.
The effect of her so near him was more than ever disturbing, in
spite of St. Pierre. Her eyes, clear and steady, yet soft as
velvet when they looked at him, made his tongue and his thoughts
dangerously uncertain.
"You had an idea, M'sieu David?"
"That you would have no desire to see me again after my talk with
St. Pierre," he said. "Did he tell you about it?"
"He said you were very fine, M'sieu David--and that he liked you."
"And he told you it is determined that I shall fight Bateese in
the morning?"
"Yes."
The one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of
interest--it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had
told him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that
she had entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that
she had betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all.
"I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying.
"It does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when
there is a lady about--"
"Or LADIES.
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