"As myself, mademoiselle."

"You have not told me your name," she said.

"Richard Barrington," he answered, and then he laughed a little. "Why I
trust you, I do not know. I may be putting it into your power to do me a
great deal of harm."

"If I have the power, I shall not use it," she answered.

There was a moment coming when she would have to decide whether these
words constituted a promise given without reservation, or whether the
promise were contingent on his being honest, as now she believed him to
be.

"For that I thank you," he returned.

"And you have my thanks for coming to Beauvais. That you have been
robbed only makes it clearer how bitter Lucien's enemies are. Have you
any plan, Monsieur Barrington, by which I could reach Paris in safety?"

The question set his thoughts rushing into a new channel. He felt
suddenly responsible for her, knew that to prevent her going even into
the shadow of harm he was prepared to face any danger. It was not her
beauty which influenced him, a moment ago he had been ready to despise
it if she were a deceitful woman; something more subtle than her beauty
appealed to him, herself, the revelation of herself which was in her
question.