He obeyed. All his hard nonchalance had returned.
"Do you trust me?" I demanded.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then you will come with me?"
"No, monsieur."
This was madness—and it took time. "Indeed you will come," I said between my teeth. "And that without more words. Good-by."
But he caught my sleeve. "Then you take me against my will."
I brushed him away. "And against mine, too, if you balk my wishes at every turn. But I will take you. It is the only chance you have, and if you are mad enough to refuse it, I must force it on you. Remember, I shall use force. Now stay by the window, and await my signal. I shall come when I can."
He followed to the door. "You will not need to use force with me, monsieur," he said soberly. "If you insist on taking me, I shall follow your directions, and use what wit I can. But I cannot thank you, for I cannot feel grateful. You give under protest, and I accept in the same way. It is a forced companionship. I do not wish to die; but, after all, it will soon be over, and life has not been sweet. I would rather risk what meets me here than take help from you, now that I see you give it grudgingly."
This chilled me, and excuses pressed hot on my tongue. Yet it was unwise to protest. Why should I wish his gratitude? It would hamper us both. I had no desire to bind him to me with obligations. I felt shame for my coldness; but, for once, my head ruled, and I let the situation stand.