The calm confidence in which La Tour d'Azyr had
spoken compelled itself to be shared. He was no vainglorious
boaster, and they knew of what a force as a swordsman he was
generally accounted.
"What does humiliation matter? A life is at issue - Andre's life."
"I know. My God, don't I know? And I would humiliate myself if
by humiliating myself I could hope to prevail. But Azyr is a hard,
relentless man, and... "
Abruptly she left him.
She overtook the Marquis as he was in the act of stepping his
carriage. He turned as she called, and bowed.
"Mademoiselle?"
At once he guessed her errand, tasted in anticipation the
unparalleled bitterness of being compelled to refuse her. Yet at
her invitation he stepped back into the cool of the hall.
In the middle of the floor of chequered marbles, black and white,
stood a carved table of black oak. By this he halted, leaning
lightly against it whilst she sat enthroned in the great crimson
chair beside it.
"Monsieur, I cannot allow you so to depart," she said.
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