She still held the leather bag in her hand.
"Perhaps the sum is not enough," she said; "he has to get to France.
Perhaps we could borrow more until my father comes home." She looked
questioningly at us.
Madame la Vicomtesse was truly a woman of decision. Without more ado she
took the bag from Antoinette's unresisting hands and put it into mine. I
was no less astonished than the rest of them.
"Mr. Ritchie will keep this until the negotiations are finished," said
the Vicomtesse.
"Negotiations!" cried Auguste, beside himself. "This is insolence,
Madame."
"Be careful, sir," I said.
"Auguste!" cried Antoinette, putting her hand on his arm.
"Why did you tell them?" he demanded, turning on her.
"Because I trust them, Auguste," Antoinette answered. She spoke without
anger, as one whose sorrow has put her beyond it. Her speech had a
dignity and force which might have awed a worthier man. His
disappointment and chagrin brought him beyond bounds.
"You trust them!" he cried, "you trust them when they tell you to give
your brother, who is starving and in peril of his life, eight hundred
livres? Eight hundred livres, pardieu, and your brother!"
"It is all I have, Auguste," said his sister, sadly.
"Ha!" he said dramatically, "I see, they seek my destruction. This
man"--pointing at me--"is a Federalist, and Madame la Vicomtesse"--he
bowed ironically--"is a Royalist.
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