Peter said, “Watts, Watts,” in a sad voice.

“Pretty bad, isn’t it?  If it wasn’t for the child I could—­”

Peter interrupted.  “Has she any proofs of paternity besides—?”

Watts interrupted in turn.  “Yes.  Confound it!  I was fool enough to write letters during my infatuation.  Talleyrand was right when he said only fools and women wrote letters.”

“How could you?”

“That’s what I’ve asked myself a hundred times.  Oh, I’m sorry enough.  I’ve sworn never to put pen to paper again. Jamais!”

“I did not mean the letters.  But your vow.”

“My vow?”

“Your marriage vow.”

“Oh, yes.  I know.  But you know, chum, before you promise to love one woman for all time you should have seen them all.”

“And that display ten minutes ago was all mockery?”

“No, no!  Really, Peter, I’m awfully fond of the little woman.  Really I am.  And you know Daudet says a man can love two women at the same time.”

“And if so, how about his honor?” Peter was trying to repress his emotion, but it would jerk out questions.

“Yes, I know.  I’ve said that to myself over and over again.  Why, look here.”  Watts pulled a small revolver from his hip pocket.  “This will show you how close to the desperation point I have come.  I’ve carried that for two days, so that if worse comes to worse—­well.  Phut!—­Voila tout.”

Peter rose, speaking in a voice ringing with scorn.  “You would escape your sin, to leave it with added disgrace for your wife and daughter to bear!  Put up your pistol, Watts D’Alloi.  If I am to help you, I want to help a man—­not a skulker.  What do you want me to do?”

“That’s what I wish to know.  What can I do?”

“You have offered her money?”

“Yes.  I told her that—­”

“Never mind details,” interrupted Peter, “Was it enough to put further offers out of the question?”

“Yes.  She won’t hear of money.  She wants revenge.”

“Give me her name and address.”

“Celestine—­” The rest was interrupted by a knock at the door.  “Well?” said Watts.

The door was opened, and a footman entered.  “If you please, Mr. D’Alloi, there’s a Frenchwoman at the door who wants to see you.  She won’t give me her name, but says you’ll know who it is.”

“Say I won’t see her.  That I’m busy.”

“She told me to say that if you were engaged, she’d see Mrs. D’Alloi.”

“My God!” said Watts, under his breath.

“Ask the woman to come in here,” said Peter, quietly, but in a way which made the man leave the room without waiting to see if Watts demurred.

A complete silence followed.  Then came the rustle of skirts, and a woman entered the room.  Peter, who stood aside, motioned to the footman to go, and closed the door himself, turning the key.

The woman came to the middle of the room.  “So, Monsieur D’Alloi,” she said in French, speaking very low and distinctly, “you thought it best not to order your groom to turn me out, as you did that last day in Paris, when you supposed your flight to America left you free to do as you pleased?  But you did not escape me.  Here I am.”