here. Are you going? Or must I eject you?"
"Polisson!"
That was M. Berigny's answer. There was just a momentary hesitation. Then, grasping M. Berigny firmly by the shoulders, Mr. Lovell began to move him, more rapidly than gently, in the direction of the door. The Vicomte came forward, with the evident intention of interposing. There would probably have been a slightly undignified scramble had not a diversion been created by the opening of the door, and the entrance of Mr. Warren. That gentleman glanced from one person to another.
"In the direction of the door."
"I beg your pardon," he observed. "I hope I don't intrude!"
Mr. Lovell laughed, a little forcedly. His complexion was distinctly ruddy.
"Not at all! I wish you had come in sooner. The most ridiculous thing has happened."
"Indeed! I have an eye for the ridiculous."
"You know that picture of mine, 'A Vision of the Night'?"
"I've heard of it."
"This gentleman says that it's a portrait of his wife."
Mr. Lovell pointed to the Vicomte d'Humières.
"No? Then, in that case, this gentleman's wife came into your bedroom in the middle of the night, and—kissed you, wasn't it?"
Mr. Warren spoke in the innocence of his heart, but, at that moment, Mr. Lovell could have struck his boyhood's friend. There was a listener behind the screen. The young gentleman's cheeks grew crimson, as the lady's had done a few minutes before. He was conscious, too, that the Vicomte's unfriendly eyes were fixed upon his face.
"So! That is it! You———" The Vicomte moved you a step forward then checked himself. "Tell me, where is my wife at this instant?"
Mr. Lovell could have told him, but he refrained.
"I decline to give you any information of any kind whatever."
"You decline?" The Vicomte raised his hand. He would have struck the artist. Mr. Warren interposed to avert the blow.
"He declines for the very simple reason that he has never seen your wife; isn't that so, Gerald?"
Mr. Lovell hesitated. He scarcely saw his way to a denial while the lady was behind the screen.
"You see! He does not even dare to lie!"
"Don't talk nonsense, sir! Gerald, why don't you tell the man that you have never seen the woman in your life?"
"I repeat that I decline to give this person any information of any kind whatever."
"You decline?"
The Vicomte uttered the words in a kind of strangled screech. His patience was exhausted. He seemed to think that he was being subjected to treatment which was more than flesh and blood could bear. He rushed at Mr. Lovell. Mr. Lovell, probably forgetting himself on the impulse of the moment—
