"I said once before I was sorry for
you, and that still goes; we won't be hard on you if we have got the
whip-hand, Mr. Bayne. You just stay in your room to-morrow until she's
gone and we're gone, and you needn't be afraid your name will ever
figure in this thing. I've made it all right with my friends in the next
room. They know a pretty girl can fool a man sometimes, and they've got
a soft spot for Americans, like all the Frenchies here. Take it from me,
you'd better draw out quietly, instead of being arrested, tried, shot,
or imprisoned maybe--or being sent home with an unproved charge hanging
over you, and having all your friends fight shy of you as a suspected
pro-German. Isn't that so?"
"You certainly," I agreed, "draw a most uninviting picture. I'll have to
consider this, Mr. Van Blarcom, if you'll give me time?"
"Sure!" with his hearty response. "Take as long as you like to think it
over; I know how you'll decide. You don't belong in a thing like
this anyhow; you never did. It's bound to end in a nasty mess for all
concerned. There's a train goes to Paris to-morrow morning at eleven.
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