I looked at her straight. “Are you not
afraid of me?” I asked.
She looked at me fairly, her color coming. “With
the fear which draws a woman to a man,” she
said.
“Whereas, mine is the fear which causes a man
to flee from himself!”
“But you will remain for my protection?
I should feel safer. Besides, in that case I
should know the answer.”
“How do you mean?”
“I should know whether or not you were married!”
WITH MADAM THE BARONESS
It is not for good women
that men have fought battles, given their
lives and staked their
souls.—Mrs. W.K. Clifford.
“But, Madam—” I began.
She answered me in her own way. “Monsieur
hesitates—he is lost!” she said.
“But see, I am weary. I have been much engaged
to-day. I have made it my plan never to fatigue
myself. It is my hour now for my bath, my exercise,
my bed, if you please. I fear I must bid you good
night, one way or the other. You will be welcome
here none the less, if you care to remain. I
trust you did not find our little repast to-night unpleasing?
Believe me, our breakfast shall be as good. Threlka
is expert in omelets, and our coffee is such as perhaps
you may not find general in these provinces.”
Was there the slightest mocking sneer in her words?
Did she despise me as a faint-heart? I could
not tell, but did not like the thought.
“Believe me, Madam,” I answered hotly,
“you have courage, at least. Let me match
it. Nor do I deny that this asks courage on my
part too. If you please, in these circumstances,
I shall remain.”
“You are armed?” she asked simply.
I inserted a finger in each waistcoat pocket and showed
her the butts of two derringers; and at the back of
my neck—to her smiling amusement at our
heathen fashion—I displayed just the tip
of the haft of a short bowie-knife, which went into
a leather case under the collar of my coat. And
again I drew around the belt which I wore so that she
could see the barrel of a good pistol, which had been
suspended under cover of the bell skirt of my coat.
She laughed. I saw that she was not unused to
weapons. I should have guessed her the daughter
of a soldier or acquainted with arms in some way.
“Of course,” she said, “there might
be need of these, although I think not. And in
any case, if trouble can be deferred until to-morrow,
why concern oneself over it? You interest me.
I begin yet more to approve of you.”
“Then, as to that breakfast a la fourchette
with Madam; if I remain, will you agree to tell me
what is your business here?”
She laughed at me gaily. “I might,”
she said, “provided that meantime I had learned
whether or not you were married that night.”
I do not profess that I read all that was in her face
as she stepped back toward the satin curtains and
swept me the most graceful curtsey I had ever seen
in all my life. I felt like reaching out a hand
to restrain her. I felt like following her.
She was assuredly bewildering, assuredly as puzzling
as she was fascinating. I only felt that she was
mocking me. Ah, she was a woman!
