“Yes, yes, I understand,” she said quickly.  “And in the morning he had flown with that most worthy of my relatives, Auguste de St. Gre.”

I looked at her, finding no words to express my astonishment at this perspicacity.

“And now what do you intend to do?” she asked.  “Find him in New Orleans, if you can, of course.  But how?” She rose quickly, went to the fireplace, and stood for a moment with her back to me.  Suddenly she turned.  “It ought not to be difficult, after all.  Auguste de St. Gre is a fool, and he confirms what you say of the expedition.  He is, indeed, a pretty person to choose for an intrigue of this kind.  And your cousin,—­what shall we call him?”

“To say the least, secrecy is not Nick’s forte,” I answered, catching her mood.

She was silent awhile.

“It would be a blessing if Monsieur le Baron could hang Auguste privately.  As for your cousin, he may be worth saving, after all.  I know Monsieur de Carondelet, and he has no patience with conspirators of this sort.  I think he would not hesitate to make examples of them.  However, we will try to save them.”

“We!” I repeated unwittingly.

Madame la Vicomtesse looked at me and laughed out right.

“Yes,” she said, “you will do some things, I others.  There are the gaming clubs with their ridiculous names, L’Amour, La Mignonne, La Desiree” (she counted them reflectively on her fingers).  “Both of our gentlemen might be tempted into one of these.  You will drop into them, Mr. Ritchie.  Then there is Madame Bouvet’s.”

“Auguste would scarcely go there,” I objected.

“Ah,” said Madame la Vicomtesse, “but Madame Bouvet will know the names of some of Auguste’s intimates.  This Bouvet is evidently a good person, perhaps she will do more for you.  I understand that she has a weak spot in her heart for Auguste.”

Madame la Vicomtesse turned her back again.  Had she heard how Madame Bouvet had begged me to buy the miniature?

“Have you any other suggestions to make?” she said, putting a foot on the fender.

“They have all been yours, so far,” I answered.

“And yet you are a man of action, of expedients,” she murmured, without turning.  “Where are your wits, Mr. Ritchie?  Have you any plan?”

“I have been so used to rely on myself, Madame,” I replied.

“That you do not like to have your affairs meddled with by a woman,” she said, into the fireplace.

“I give you the credit to believe that you are too clever to misunderstand me, Madame,” I said.  “You must know that your help is most welcome.”

At that she swung around and regarded me strangely, mirth lurking in her eyes.  She seemed about to retort, and then to conquer the impulse.  The effect of this was to make me anything but self-complacent.  She sat down in the chair and for a little while she was silent.

“Suppose we do find them,” she said suddenly.  “What shall we do with them?” She looked up at me questioningly, seriously.  “Is it likely that your Mr. Temple will be reconciled with his mother?  Is it likely that he is still in love with Antoinette?”