Her eyes were lit with humor.
"Ah, Monsieur!" she protested.
"With you, Mademoiselle," he continued, "reposes now a secret of great
importance to your country and mine. I ask for no pledge of discretion,
but I rely upon it. And, especially, Mademoiselle, may I warn you
against your friends?"
"I understand," she answered. "You wish me to share this confidence with
no one."
"With no one," the Vicomte repeated impressively. "Not even,
Mademoiselle, if I may venture to mention a name, with your very
persistent admirer, Sir George Duncombe, whom I saw here a few moments
since."
She sighed, and the Vicomte's face became one of pale anxiety.
"I have not been permitted to see him," she answered. "He was here a few
minutes ago."
"It is wiser so, Mademoiselle," the Vicomte said. "I wonder," he added,
"whether Mademoiselle will pardon the impertinence of a purely personal
question?"
"I will try," she answered demurely.
"This Englishman--Sir George Duncombe--are you perhaps--how you say,
betrothed to him?"
A certain bluntness in the question, and the real or affected anxiety of
the young man's tone brought the color streaming into her cheeks.
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