FullReads

She recoiled from him with a face of horror.

“With you, monsieur? Never!” she cried.

He laid his hand upon the table and leaned forward.

“With me, yes,” he said, speaking rapidly, yet with lips that scarcely seemed to move. “I have come for you, and I mean to take you. Be wise, Mademoiselle Stephanie! Come quietly!”

She scarcely heard him. Frenzy had gripped her–wild, unreasoning, all-mastering frenzy. The supreme moment had come for her, and, with a face that was like a death-mask, she raised the silver flask to her lips.

But no drop of its contents ever touched them, for in that instant Pierre vaulted the intervening table and hurled himself upon her. The flask flew from her hand and spun across the room, falling she knew not where; while she herself was caught in the man’s arms and held in a grip like iron.

She struggled fiercely to free herself, but for many seconds she struggled in vain. Then, just as her strength was beginning to leave her, he abruptly set her free.

“Come!” he said. “There is no time for childish folly. Find a cloak, and we will go.”

His tone was peremptory, but it held no anger. Turning from her, he walked deliberately away into the outer room.

She sank back trembling against the wall, nearer to collapse than she had ever been before. But the momentary respite had its effect, and instinctively she began to gather herself together for fresh effort. He had wrested her deliverance from her, but she would never accept what he offered in exchange. She would never escape with his man. She would sooner–yes, a thousand times sooner–face the mercy of the mob.

“Mademoiselle Stephanie!” Impatiently his voice came to her from the farther room. “Are you coming, or am I to fetch you?”

She did not answer. A sudden wild idea had formed in her brain. If she could slip past him–if she could reach the outer door–he would never overtake her on the corridor. But she must be brave, she must be subtle, she must watch her opportunity.

With some semblance of composure she took out a long travelling-cloak, and walked into the room in which he awaited her. With a start of surprise, she saw him standing by the open window.

“This way, mademoiselle,” he said curtly; and she realised that he must have entered from the garden.

“One moment, monsieur,” she returned, and quietly crossed the room to the door at the other end.

It was closed. It must have swung to behind her, for she did not remember closing it.

He made no attempt to stop her. He could not surely have guessed her intention, for he remained motionless by the window, watching her. Her heart was thumping as though it would choke her, but yet she controlled herself. He must not suspect till the door was open, till the passage was clear before her, and pursuit of no avail.

She reached out a quivering hand and grasped the ebony knob. Now–now for the last and greatest effort of her life! Sharply she turned the handle, pulled at it, wrenched it with frantic force, finally turned from it and confronted the man at the window with eyes that were hunted, desperate.

“Let me go!” she gasped hoarsely. “How dare you keep me here against my will?”

“I have no desire to keep you here, mademoiselle,” he answered. “I am only waiting to take you away.”

“I refuse to go with you!” she cried. “I would rather die a thousand times!”

His brows contracted into a single grim line. He left the window and came towards her.

But at his action she sprang away like a mad thing, dodged him, avoided him, then leapt suddenly upon a chair and snatched a rapier from a group of swords arranged in a circle upon the wall. The light fell full upon her ashen face and eyes of horror. She was beside herself.

All her instincts urged her to resistance. She had always shrunk from this man. If she could only hold him at bay for a little–if she could only resist long enough–surely she heard the feet of the murderers upon the corridor already! It would not take them long to batter down the door and take her life!