She was speaking a little excitedly; “worrying her fan,” Régis thought, with undue violence, and there was now a very becoming tinge of pink in her soft cheeks. At his daughter’s name, however, “Antinoüs” stiffened like a pointer, and without any suavity whatsoever, said:
“May I beg you to grant me a few minutes?”
Laurence’s hazel orbs through a curtain of silken lashes fixed themselves coquettishly upon him.
“But, certainly,” she readily acquiesced; “it will be a pleasure--I owe you a reward, anyhow!” And she seated herself in a high-backed carven chair, upon which it was easy to adopt regal airs.
“_C’est trop fort!_” inwardly commented Régis, and, disregarding her inviting gesture toward a pile of cushions near her, he leaned one hand upon the rose-table, and began to speak in a grave voice of which she had never supposed him capable.
“Madame,” he said, slowly, “you have placed me in a difficult position, and as I believe in plain dealing and plain speaking, I am about to ask you, without further preparation, what you intend to do about it.”
Laurence straightened herself brusquely. The color fled from her face, and with it the very essence of her brilliant beauty.
“I!” she exclaimed. “I have put you in a difficult position? Would it be too much to ask you, monsieur, how I have contrived to be so unfortunate?”
“Assuredly, madame; that is exactly what I am here to do. I was unlucky enough to witness--wholly by accident--two or three hours ago your meeting with Captain Moray.”
Laurence, who had already guessed something of the sort, indulged in a low, insolent laugh.
“Such ‘accidents’ have a name, monsieur,” she said, with considerable effrontery. “They enter, it seems to me, into the province of espionage--of--the Third Section, if you prefer.”
Régis passed over the intended insult as though it were not worth picking up.
“By accident,” he quietly repeated. “And much as I dislike calling a woman to account, especially beneath my own roof, I desire--as I have already given myself the honor of telling you--to know from your own lips what you intend to do about it!”
Laurence for a second asked herself whether or no she could brazen the thing out. How much had he seen or heard? Perhaps this was only a “feeler,” a mere trick to get rid of her whom he did not like--she had long ago perceived that. A swift glance at him, however, showed her a Régis so different from the gay and _debonnaire Grand Seigneur_ she had known until then that she felt a little shiver of fear pass between her very bare shoulders.