as one who has been flogged into insensibility, she did not wince. That drove him on: he felt a mad desire to hear her prayers, to force her lower, to bring her to her knees. And he sought about for a keener taunt. Their attendants were almost out of sight before them; the sun, declining apace, was in their eyes.
“In two hours we shall be in Angers,” he said. “Mon Dieu, Madame, it was a pity, when you two were taking letters, you did not go a step farther. You were surprised, or I doubt if I should be alive to-day!”
Then she did look up. She raised her head and met his gaze with such wonder in her eyes, such reproach in her tear-stained face, that his voice sank on the last word.
“You mean—that I would have murdered you?” she said. “I would have cut off my hand first. What I did”—and now her voice was as firm as it was low—“what I did, I did to save my people. And if it were to be done again, I would do it again!”
“You dare to tell me that to my face?” he cried, hiding feelings which almost choked him. “You would do it again, would you? Mon Dieu, Madame, you need to be taught a lesson!”
And by chance, meaning only to make the horses move on again, he raised his whip. She thought that he was going to strike her, and she flinched at last. The whip fell smartly on her horse’s quarters, and it sprang forward. Count Hannibal swore between his teeth.
He had turned pale, she red as fire. “Get on! Get on!” he cried harshly. “We are falling behind!” And riding at her heels, flipping her horse now and then, he forced her to trot on until they overtook the servants.
