"You are right again," he said, refilling his glass. "Their value, as you
say, is purely negative. Yet, believe me, it does not impair them. You
have only to place them before you and do exactly opposite. It is the
best way I can think of for you to become a decent and self-respecting
man. And now you have the only reason why I permit you in my society. The
lesson has already started--an original lesson, is it not?"

As though to close the interview, he sprang up lightly, and bowed to
Mademoiselle. It seemed tome he was combating a slight embarrassment, for
he paused, seemingly uncertain how to begin, but only for a moment.
Mademoiselle had regained her self-possession, and was regarding him with
attention, and a little of the contempt which became her so well.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "even the pain of distressing you is lessened by
the unexpected pleasure of your company tonight. I hope you have found
the hour not entirely unprofitable. It has sometimes seemed to me, my
lady--pardon the rudeness of suggesting it--that you may have seen
something romantic, something heroic in me from time to time. I trust you
have been disillusioned tonight. The fight on the stairs, the open
boat--you see them all as they should be, do you not, the necessary parts
of a piece of villainy? Pray forget them--and good night, Mademoiselle."

Suddenly both he and I started, and involuntarily his hand went up to
cover his torn lapel. Mademoiselle was laughing.

"Captain," she cried, "you are absurd!"

"Absurd!" exclaimed my father uncertainly.

"You of all people! You cannot sell the paper!"