She slurred over the word dangerous but I picked it up.

“What do you know of its dangers, Madame, may I ask?” But she did not condescend to hear.

“And then you, too, have your chivalrous feelings,” she went on, unswerving, distinct, and tranquil.  “You are not absurd.  But my son is.  He would shut her up in a convent for a time if he could.”

“He isn’t the only one,” I muttered.

“Indeed!” she was startled, then lower, “Yes.  That woman must be the centre of all sorts of passions,” she mused audibly.  “But what have you got to do with all this?  It’s nothing to you.”

She waited for me to speak.

“Exactly, Madame,” I said, “and therefore I don’t see why I should concern myself in all this one way or another.”

“No,” she assented with a weary air, “except that you might ask yourself what is the good of tormenting a man of noble feelings, however absurd.  His Southern blood makes him very violent sometimes.  I fear—­” And then for the first time during this conversation, for the first time since I left Dona Rita the day before, for the first time I laughed.

“Do you mean to hint, Madame, that Southern gentlemen are dead shots?  I am aware of that—­from novels.”

I spoke looking her straight in the face and I made that exquisite, aristocratic old woman positively blink by my directness.  There was a faint flush on her delicate old cheeks but she didn’t move a muscle of her face.  I made her a most respectful bow and went out of the studio.

CHAPTER IV

Through the great arched window of the hall I saw the hotel brougham waiting at the door.  On passing the door of the front room (it was originally meant for a drawing-room but a bed for Blunt was put in there) I banged with my fist on the panel and shouted:  “I am obliged to go out.  Your mother’s carriage is at the door.”  I didn’t think he was asleep.  My view now was that he was aware beforehand of the subject of the conversation, and if so I did not wish to appear as if I had slunk away from him after the interview.  But I didn’t stop—­I didn’t want to see him—­and before he could answer I was already half way up the stairs running noiselessly up the thick carpet which also covered the floor of the landing.  Therefore opening the door of my sitting-room quickly I caught by surprise the person who was in there watching the street half concealed by the window curtain.  It was a woman.  A totally unexpected woman.  A perfect stranger.  She came away quickly to meet me.  Her face was veiled and she was dressed in a dark walking costume and a very simple form of hat.  She murmured:  “I had an idea that Monsieur was in the house,” raising a gloved hand to lift her veil.  It was Rose and she gave me a shock.  I had never seen her before but with her little black silk apron and a white cap with ribbons on her head.  This outdoor dress was like a disguise.  I asked anxiously: