"It is exactly what remains impossible," the Vicomte answered smoothly.
"But you know the old saying, you have doubtless something similar in
your own country, 'It is from our friends we suffer most.' Your
presence here, your--forgive me--somewhat clumsy attempts to solve this
_affaire Poynton_, are likely to be a cause of embarrassment to the
young lady herself and to others. Apart from that, it will certainly
cost you your life."
"Without some shadow of an explanation," Duncombe said calmly, "I remain
where I am in case I can be of assistance to Miss Poynton."
The young man shrugged his shoulders, and sauntering to a mirror
rearranged his tie. Madame la Marquise entered.
"You, Henri!" she exclaimed.
He bowed low with exaggerated grace, and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"I!" he answered. "And--for this time with a perfectly legitimate reason
for my coming. A commission from my uncle."
"_L'affaire Poynton?_"
"Exactly, dear cousin."
"But why," she asked, "did they not show you into my room?"
"I learnt that my friend Sir George Duncombe was here, and I desired to
see him," he rejoined.
She shrugged her dainty shoulders.
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