"But this is abominable!" she cried. "You look as if——"
"I beg you, mademoiselle," interrupted Guerchard. "We are sometimes obliged——"
"Really, Mademoiselle Sonia," broke in the Duke, in a singularly clear and piercing tone, "I cannot see why you should object to this mere formality."
"Oh, but—but——" gasped Sonia, raising her terror-stricken eyes to his.
The Duke seemed to hold them with his own; and he said in the same clear, piercing voice, "There isn't the slightest reason for you to be frightened."
Sonia let go of the cloak, and Guerchard, his face all alight with triumph, plunged his hand into the pocket. He drew it out empty, and stared at it, while his face fell to an utter, amazed blankness.
"Nothing? nothing?" he muttered under his breath. And he stared at his empty hand as if he could not believe his eyes.
By a violent effort he forced an apologetic smile on his face, and said to Sonia: "A thousand apologies, mademoiselle."
He handed the cloak to her. Sonia took it and turned to go. She took a step towards the door, and tottered.
