And every time
I see him he watches me in that same way."
I was thawing, despite myself.
"There's one other thing," I ventured, "if you won't think me too
impertinent: Did you ever hear of a man named Franz von Blenheim?"
"No," she said blankly; "I never did. Who is he?"
No birds out of that covert! If this was acting it was marvelous; there
had not been the slightest flicker of confusion in her face.
"Oh, he isn't anybody of importance--just a man," I evaded. "Look here,
Miss Falconer, you'll have to forgive me if you can. You shall stay in
Paris, and I'll be as silent as the grave concerning you; but I'd like
to do more than that. Won't you let me come and call? Really, you
know, I'm not such a duffer as you have cause to think me. After we got
acquainted you might be willing to trust me with this business, whatever
it is. And then, if it's not too desperate, I have friends who could be
of help to you." Such was the sop I threw to conscience, the bargain
I struck between sober reason and the instinct that made me trust her
against all odds.
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