There was in her voice and gesture when she asked a question the
imperiousness of one accustomed to command replies. This pretty
queenliness it was that drove me to answer--as I had done before--in a
bantering strain.

"Why did the mob pursue me? Hum! Why does the mob pursue great men?
Because it loves their company."

Her matchless eyes flashed an angry glance, and the faint smile on my lips
must have tried her temper sorely.

"What did you do to deserve this affection?"

"A mere nothing--I killed a man," I answered coolly. "Or, at least, I left
him started on the road to--Paradise."

The little flaxen-haired doll uttered a cry of horror, and covered her face
with her small white hands. My inquisitor, however, sat rigid and
unaffected. My answer had confirmed her suspicions.

"Why did you kill him?"

"Ma foi!" I replied, encouraging her thoughts, "because he sought to kill
me."

"Ah! And why did he seek to kill you?"

"Because I disturbed him at dinner."