THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
“Where, monsieur. What—”
“Madame, I pray that you will make haste. There is little time to lose. I should be at this moment upon the deck.”
“Monsieur would take me—?”
“Below the water-line, madame. There will be a fight. Shots may be fired. I would have you in safety.”
Alas for Mistress Barbara’s crafty plans and gentle resolutions. In a moment they were dissipated by the imperturbability, the tepid indifference of his manner, which should have been so different in the face of a situation which promised so much that was ominous to her. His coolness fell about her like a bucket of water, and sent a righteous anger to her rescue, so that her chill terror was driven forth for the nonce by a flush of hot blood. When she spoke, her voice rang clear with a certain bitter courage.
“Safety!” she cried. “Monsieur is too kind. I shall prefer to be killed here—here in the decent privacy of the cabin.”
“Madame,” said he, in impatience, “it is no
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