De Croix hesitated, standing half-poised for attack, even his glib
tongue and ready wit failing as she thus calmly questioned him.
Indeed, as I later learned, there was that of witchery about this young
girl which held him at bay more effectually than if she had been a
princess of the royal blood,--a something that laughed his studied art
to scorn. She noted now his hesitancy, and smiled slightly at the
evidence of her power.

"Well, Monsieur, 'tis not often that your lips fail of words," she
continued, archly. "Why is it I am made the subject of your quarrel?"

The slight sarcastic sting in her voice aroused him.

"By all the saints, Toinette!" he exclaimed, striving to appear at his
ease, "this seems a poor greeting for one who has followed you through
leagues of forest and across oceans of sand, hopeful at the least to
gain a smile of welcome from your lips. Know you not I am here, at the
very end of the world, for you?"

"I think it not altogether unlikely," she replied with calmness. "You
have ever been of a nature to do strange things, yet it has always been
of your own sweet will. Surely, Monsieur, I did never bid you come, or
promise you a greeting."

"No," he admitted regretfully, "'t is, alas, true,"; and his eyes
seemed to regain something of their old audacity. "But there was that
about our parting,--you recall it, Toinette, in the shadow of the
castle wall?--which did afford me hope. No one so fair as you can be
without heart."