her so savagely that her hair came tumbling over her face.
"Don't talk scare to me, you little fool," I said, and threw her across the room and on the divan. "Pick up your gun and shoot," I cried. There it is beside you. Shoot, and save your pretty, cowardly pelt, for I give it to you cold that you are up against the real thing at last." And I leaned across the table and glared at her.
Léontine flung back her hair with both hands. It was short and thick and curly and only reached to her chin. She snatched up the revolver, raised it, and covered my chest. I wasn't thinking of long-life policy just then. I was too mad.
"Unhook her. Empty your fool-gun," I taunted her. "A lot I care."
The muzzle wavered. I was staring into the eyes over it, willing her not to press the trigger. I won, too, for suddenly her pupils dilated and the yellow eyes grew dark. Her stiffened arm drooped. Then she dropped the pistol and flung herself face downward on the cushions.
I leaned across the table watching her. Then, straightening up, I pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. Léontine did not move, but her bare shoulders were heaving. The clock in the hall struck one. I dropped into a chair by the table and smoked and watched her.
Presently she raised her head, stared at me a moment, then looked at the revolver shining at her feet. She reached down, picked it up, and laid it on the table. Then she looked at me and laughed.
