Paul argued no more. He was kneeling in front of her upon a cushion. He took her two hands, and, lifting them, he bowed his head and pressed the palms against his face.
“Then let us go down and make our plans,” he said. “For what we do, we must do very quickly.”
His urgency startled her.
“But this house is not known. We are safe here!”
Paul glanced again towards the east. He had the look of the hunted.
“There’s a man drawing nearer to us every minute who will rake through Fez with a fine-tooth comb to find out what has become of me,” he said.
“An enemy?” Marguerite asked, in dismay.
“No; my friend, Gerard de Montignac. He is on Moinier’s staff.”
“But he will remain your friend,” cried Marguerite, “even if he—”
Paul Ravenel completed the sentence for her.