"But this club--the Cercle Anglais----"
"The club is all right," the Vicomte admitted calmly. "Unfortunately
there is no place in Paris which would be entirely safe for you. You
have the misfortune, you see, to be in opposition to some of my friends,
who have really unlimited opportunities for making things disagreeable
for you. Now I am beginning to talk, and it is very foolish of me. Why
don't you leave Paris, Sir George?"
"Why should I?" Duncombe asked, a little sharply. "I break no laws here,
I wrong no one. I am here on my own business, and I only ask to be let
alone."
The Vicomte regarded him as one might look at a spoilt child whom it was
yet advisable to humor.
"Ah," he said, "they will not let you alone. You are so obstinate, like
all your country-people, or you would recognize it without my risking
so much by speaking. You will have to leave Paris, and very soon. It is
so easily to be managed. A dispute at cards here--you would certainly be
in the wrong, and an ugly scandal if you were not away in twenty-four
hours. It is one method of a thousand."
"You know so much," Duncombe said. "I have no doubt that you know the
one thing which I would give years of my life to be satisfied about.
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