Mademoiselle's air overawed him; and presently she made him understand,
and with a nod he descended to carry her message.

Then Mademoiselle's heart began to beat; and beat more quickly when she
heard _his_ step--alas! she knew it already, knew it from all others--on
the stairs. The table was set, the card must be played, to win or lose.
It might be that with the low opinion he held of women he would think her
reconciled to her lot; he would think this an overture, a step towards
kinder treatment, one more proof of the inconstancy of the lower and the
weaker sex, made to be men's playthings. And at that thought her eyes
grew hot with rage. But if it were so, she must still put up with it.
She must still put up with it! She had sent for him, and he was
coming--he was at the door!

He entered, and she breathed more freely. For once his face lacked the
sneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know and
hate. It was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark,
akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of the rider
who had summoned him. But the offensive look was gone, and she could
breathe.

He closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room.

"At your pleasure, Mademoiselle?" he said simply. "You sent for me, I
think."

She was on her feet, standing before him with something of the
submissiveness of Roxana before her conqueror.

"I did," she said; and stopped at that, her hand to her side as if she