"True, mademoiselle," I cried, almost exultantly. "It can end but
one way!"
She caught my meaning, and her frown deepened. I went too fast, it
seemed.
"It had better end now, monsieur. There is too much between us.
You wagered to win me to wife." She shuddered. "I could never
forget it."
"Mademoiselle," I denied stoutly, "I did not."
"How?" She caught her breath. "You did not?"
"No," I pursued boldly. "I did not wager to win you. I wagered
to win a certain Mademoiselle de Lavedan, who was unknown to me -
but not you, not you."
She smiled, with never so slight a touch of scorn.
"Your distinctions are very fine - too fine for me, monsieur."
"I implore you to be reasonable. Think reasonably."
"Am I not reasonable? Do I not think? But there is so much to
think of!" she sighed. "You carried your deception so far. You
came here, for instance, as Monsieur de Lesperon. Why that
duplicity?"
"Again, mademoiselle, I did not," said I.
She glanced at me with pathetic disdain.
"Indeed, indeed, monsieur, you deny things very bravely."
"Did I tell you that my name was Lesperon? Did I present myself
to monsieur your father as Lesperon?"
"Surely - yes."
"Surely no; a thousand times no. I was the victim of circumstances
in that, and if I turned them to my own account after they had been
forced upon me, shall I be blamed and accounted a cheat? Whilst I
was unconscious, your father, seeking for a clue to my identity,
made an inspection of my clothes.
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