“No matter,” he said. “Why waste thought on a trap from which one has escaped? And now, M. de Tavernay, to your affair. I see the words which are trembling on your lips; I read the thought which is passing in your mind. You would say that I have not used you as one gentleman uses another. I admit it. You are thinking that now you will revenge yourself. I do not blame you. I owe you an apology for treating you in the fashion that I did. But it was with me a question of life or death. I had no alternative. And I assure you,” he added, smiling grimly, “I should not have hesitated to kill you had you chosen to resist. I gave you a chance for your life merely because I saw that you were not a Republican, but a traveller like myself. Had you worn the tri-color, nothing would have saved you.” “All of which I saw in your eyes, monsieur,” I said. “It was for that reason I did not resist.” “Well,” he asked, looking at me, “which is it, monsieur--an apology and this bottle of wine, or our swords back of the cabaret? For myself, I hope it is the former. But it is for you to choose.” There was a kindness in his tone not to be resisted, an authority in his glance and in the expression of his face which bore in upon me anew my own youth and inexperience. “The wine, monsieur,” I said. “The other would be folly.” He nodded and filled our glasses, then raised his to his lips. “To our better acquaintance,” he said, and we drank the toast. I was beginning to wonder how I had ever been so blind as to think this man an enemy. “There was one moment,” I confessed, “when you were in some danger.” “I saw it,” he said quietly. “It was for that reason I turned my back to you.” I stared at him in amazement. “To help you overcome temptation,” he explained. “One gentleman does not break his word by stabbing another in the back.” A warm flush of pleasure sprang to my cheeks. Then a sudden vision rose before me of a limp body in Republican uniform---- “But you----” I stopped, confused, conscious that I was uttering my thought aloud, and that the thought was not a pleasant one. “Ah,” he went on, smiling sadly, “you would say that I stabbed that poor fellow in the back. Believe me, monsieur, I should have preferred a thousand times to meet him face to face. But I had no choice. A moment’s delay, and I should have been taken. So I hardened my heart and struck.” “Pardon me, monsieur,” I murmured. He nodded, the shadow still on his face.