"Ah, Mornac! Do you suppose I believed him? Had I not proof on proof
of your loyalty, your honor, your courtesy, your chivalry--"
"Madame, your generosity--and, I fear, your pity--overpraises."
"No, it does not! I know what you are. Mornac cannot make white
black! I know what you have been. Mornac could not read you into
infamy, even with your dossier under my own eyes!"
"In my dossier you read a sorry history, madame."
"In your dossier I read the tragedy of a gentleman."
"Do you know," said I, "that I am now a performer in a third-rate
travelling circus?"
"I think that is very sad," she said, sweetly.
"Sad? Oh no. It is better than the disciplinary battalions of
Africa."
Which was simply acknowledging that I had served a term in prison.