Mademoiselle, I stand astonished at my moderation. You chatter to me of ministers and priests, and the one or the other, when it might be neither! When you are as much and as hopelessly in my power to-day as the wench in my kitchen! You! You flout me, and make terms with me! You!”
And he came so near her with his dark harsh face, his tone rose so menacing on the last word, that her nerves, shattered before, gave way, and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking he would strike her.
He did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh of content. And his eyes devoured her.
“Ho! ho!” he said. “We are not so brave as we pretend to be, it seems. And yet you dared to chaffer with me? You thought to thwart me—Tavannes! Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, to what did you trust? To what did you trust? Ay, and to what do you trust?”
She knew that by the movement which fear had forced from her she had jeopardized everything. That she stood to lose all and more than all which she had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less brave, of a spirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad to escape so. But this woman, though her bloodless face showed that she knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was indeed sick with terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. She played her last card.
“To what do I trust?” she muttered with trembling lips.
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” he answered between his teeth. “To what do you trust—that you play with Tavannes?”
“To his honour, Monsieur,” she answered faintly. “And to your promise.”
He looked at her with his mocking smile. “And yet,”
