M. Riviere paled to his normal hue: paler than that
his complexion could hardly turn.
"Why the devil," Archer explosively continued,
"should you have thought--since I suppose you're
appealing to me on the ground of my relationship to
Madame Olenska--that I should take a view contrary
to the rest of her family?"
The change of expression in M. Riviere's face was
for a time his only answer. His look passed from timidity
to absolute distress: for a young man of his usually
resourceful mien it would have been difficult to appear
more disarmed and defenceless. "Oh, Monsieur--"
"I can't imagine," Archer continued, "why you should
have come to me when there are others so much nearer
to the Countess; still less why you thought I should be
more accessible to the arguments I suppose you were
sent over with."
M. Riviere took this onslaught with a disconcerting
humility. "The arguments I want to present to you,
Monsieur, are my own and not those I was sent over
with."
"Then I see still less reason for listening to them."
M. Riviere again looked into his hat, as if considering
whether these last words were not a sufficiently
broad hint to put it on and be gone. Then he spoke
with sudden decision. "Monsieur--will you tell me one
thing? Is it my right to be here that you question? Or
do you perhaps believe the whole matter to be already
closed?"
His quiet insistence made Archer feel the clumsiness
of his own bluster. M. Riviere had succeeded in imposing
himself: Archer, reddening slightly, dropped into
his chair again, and signed to the young man to be
seated.
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