“I wonder if it would be better that I kill you now?” Léonie said slowly. “You shall not harm Monseigneur, pig-person. That I swear!”
“I have no great wish to harm him,” Saint-Vire said indifferently. “But I cannot see my child in his care. Some paternal feeling you will allow me. Put yourself in my hands, and Avon has nothing to fear from me. All my wish is to see you safely disposed in life. There need be no scandal if you disappear from Society, but if you remain under Avon’s roof scandal must come. And since I am like to be involved in it, I prefer to head the cry.”
“And if I go you will say nothing?”
“Not a word. Why should I? Let me make provision for you. I can find a home for you. I will send you money. And perhaps you will—”
“I do not put myself in the hands of a pig-person,” Léonie said crushingly. “I will disappear, bien entendu, but I will go to one who loves me, not to you, who are without doubt a villain.” She swallowed hard, and her hand clutched on the pistol. “I give you my word that I will disappear.”
He held out his hand.
“Poor child, this is a sad day for you. There is nothing I can say, but that I am sorry. It is for the best, as you will see. Where do you go?”
She held her head high.
“I do not tell you or anyone that,” she said. “I make just one prayer to the good God that I may never see you again.” Words choked in her throat; she made a gesture of loathing, and went to the door. There she turned. “I forget. You will swear to me that you will say nothing that may harm Monseigneur. Swear it on the Bible!”
“I swear,” he said. “But there is no need. Once you are gone there will be no occasion for me to speak. I want no scandal.”
“Bon!” she said. “I do not trust your oath, but I think you are a great coward, and you would not like to make a scandal. I hope you will be punished one day.” She flung the door-key down on the floor, and went quickly out.
Saint-Vire passed his handkerchief across his brow.
“Mon Dieu,” he whispered. “She showed me how to play my ace! Now, Satanas, we shall see who wins!”
XXIX
The Disappearance of Léonie
Lord Rupert yawned mightily, and heaved himself up in his chair.
“What do we do tonight?” he asked. “ ’Pon my soul, I’ve never been to so many balls in my life! It’s no wonder I’m worn out.”
“Oh, my dear Rupert, I am nigh dead with fatigue!” Fanny cried. “At least we have this one evening quiet! Tomorrow there is Madame du Deffand’s soirée.” She nodded to Léonie. “You will enjoy that, my love, I assure you. A few poems to be read, discussion, all the wit of Paris present—oh, ’twill be a most amusing evening, I vow! There is no one who will not be there.”
“What, so we have respite today, have we?” said Rupert. “Now, what shall I do?”
“I thought you said you were worn out?” Marling remarked.
“So I am, but I can’t sit at home all the evening. What do you do?”
“Hugh and I are bound for de Châtelet’s, to visit Merivale. Will you accompany us?”
Rupert considered for a while.
“No, I believe I’ll go to this new gaming-house I hear tell of.”
Avon put up his glass.
“Oh? What, and where, is the novelty?”
“In the Rue Chambéry. It’s like to kill Vassaud’s if what they say is true. I’m surprised you’d not heard of it.”
“Yes, it is not in keeping with the part,” Avon said. “I believe I will go with you there this evening, child. It will not do for Paris to think I did not know of it.”
“What, will you all be out?” Fanny asked. “And I had promised to dine with my dear Julie! Léonie, I am sure that she will be pleased if you come with me.”
“Oh madame, I am so tired!” Léonie protested. “I would like to go to bed early tonight.”
Rupert stretched his long legs out before him.
“Tired at last!” he said. “Faith, I thought you’d never be wearied out!”
“My dearest life, I will tell the servants to take a tray to your room,” Fanny said. “You must not be tired tomorrow, for I am determined you shall come to Madame du Deffand’s soirée! Why, Condé is sure to be there!”
Léonie smiled rather wanly, and encountered Avon’s scrutiny.
“My infant, what has happened to trouble you?” he asked.
She opened wide her eyes.
“But nothing, Monseigneur! It is just that I have a touch of the migraine.”
“To be sure I am not surprised.” My lady shook her head wisely. “We have been abroad late every night this week. It is I who am at fault to have permitted it.”
“Oh, but madame, it has been fort amusant!” Léonie said. “I have enjoyed myself so much!”
“Egad, and so have I!” Rupert remarked. “It has been a mad two months, and I scarce know whether I am standing on my head or my heels. Are you off already, Hugh?”
“We are dining with de Châtelet at four,” Hugh explained. “I’ll say good night, Léonie. You’ll be abed when we return.”
She gave him her hand; her eyes were downcast. Both he and Marling kissed the slender fingers. Hugh made some joke to Rupert, and they went out.
“Do you dine at home, Justin?” asked my lady. “I must go change my gown, and order the light chaise to take me to Julie.”
“I will bear my infant company at dinner,” said Avon. “And then
