At last, "My masters," said I, "these
conclusions may appear to you most plausible, but, believe me, they
are fallacious. I am perfectly acquainted with Monsieur de
Chatellerault, and he with me, and if he were to speak the truth
and play the man and the gentleman for once, he would tell you that
I am, indeed, Bardelys. But Monsieur le Comte has ends of his own
to serve in sending me to my doom. It is in a sense through his
agency that I am at present in this position, and that I have been
confounded with Lesperon. What, then, could it have availed me to
have made appeal to him? And yet, Monsieur le President, he was
born a gentleman, and he may still retain some notion of honour.
Ask him, sir - ask him point-blank, whether I am or not Marcel de
Bardelys."
The firmness of my tones created some impression upon those feeble
minds. Indeed, the President went so far as to turn an interrogative
glance upon the Count. But Chatellerault, supremely master of the
situation, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled a pitying,
long-suffering smile.
"Must I really answer such a question, Monsieur le President?" he
inquired in a voice and with a manner that clearly implied how low
would be his estimate of the President's intelligence if he were,
indeed, constrained to do so.
"But no, Monsieur le Comte," replied the President with sudden haste,
and in scornful rejection of the idea. "There is no necessity that
you should answer."
"But the question, Monsieur le President!" I thundered, my hand
outstretched towards Chatellerault.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169