"Yes."
"Where is the woman?" insinuated the soft, bewildering voice.
"Here!" he answered emotionally, and he believed it was the truth. She
stood looking meditatively out of the window, not at him.
"In Pontiac?" she asked presently, turning with a child-like surprise.
"Ah, yes, yes! I know--one of the people; suitable for Pontiac; but is it
wise? She is pretty--but is it wise?"
She was adroitly suggesting Elise Malboir, whose little romance she had
discovered.
"She is the prettiest and wisest lady I ever knew, or ever hoped to
know," he said earnestly, laying his hand upon his heart.
"How far will your idea take you?" she asked evasively, her small fingers
tightening a gold hair-pin. "To Paris--to the Tuileries!" he answered,
rising to his feet.
"And you start--from Pontiac?"
"What difference, Pontiac or Cannes, like the Great Master after Elba,"
he said. "The principle is the same."
"The money?"
"It will come," he answered. "I have friends--and hopes."
She almost laughed. She was suddenly struck by the grotesqueness of the
situation. But she saw how she had hurt him, and she said instantly:
"Of course, with those one may go far.
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