"Answer me!"

"I have nothing to say that you would like to hear."

"What? Out with it!"

"You would have a right to think me impertinent if I said any more."

"No, I swear I will not devour you, say what you may."

She shook her head, and the motion brought two tears down on her
cheeks.

"Oh, you are one of the stubborn sweet saints, whose lips even
Torquemada's red-hot steel fingers could not open. Child, do you
hate or dread me most? Answer that question."

He took his own handkerchief and wiped away the tears.

"I am sorry for you, sir," she said in a low voice.

He threw his head back and laughed heartily.

"Sorry for me! For me! Me? The owner of as many thousands as there
are hairs on your head! Keep your pity for your poverty-stricken
vagrant self! Why the deuce are you sorry for me?"

She withdrew her hands, which he seemed to hold unconsciously, and
answered: