and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry, thinking he
would strike her.

He did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh of
content. And his eyes devoured her.

"Ho! ho!" he said. "We are not so brave as we pretend to be, it seems.
And yet you dared to chaffer with me? You thought to thwart me--Tavannes!
_Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, to what did you trust? To what did you trust?
Ay, and to what do you trust?"

She knew that by the movement which fear had forced from her she had
jeopardized everything. That she stood to lose all and more than all
which she had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less brave, of a
spirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad to
escape so. But this woman, though her bloodless face showed that she
knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was indeed sick
with terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. She
played her last card.

"To what do I trust?" she muttered with trembling lips.

"Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered between his teeth. "To what do you
trust--that you play with Tavannes?"

"To his honour, Monsieur," she answered faintly. "And to your promise."

He looked at her with his mocking smile. "And yet," he sneered, "you
thought a moment ago that I should strike you. You thought that I should
beat you! And now it is my honour and my promise! Oh, clever, clever,