‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. He seemed to deliberate. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing.
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