She paused before she replied, looking at him intently; then she answered in a low voice, speaking slowly and deliberately:
"I will be all to you that I can and that you ask me to be."
"I have your word, dear friend?"
"You have my word. If you ask me, I will redeem it." She looked at him still as though she had said a great thing—as though a pledge had passed between them, and a solemn promise from her to him.
What seemed her feeling found an answer in Dieppe. He pressed her for no more promises, he urged her to no more demonstration of affection towards him. But their eyes met, their glances conquered the dimness of the candle's light and spoke to one another. Rain beat and wind howled outside. Dieppe heard nothing but an outspoken confession that left honour safe and inviolate, and yet told him the sweetest thing that he could hear—a thing so sweet that for the instant its sadness was forgotten. He had triumphed, though he could have no reward of victory. He was loved, though he might hear no words of love. But he could serve her still—serve her and save her from the danger and humiliation which, notwithstanding Count Andrea's softened mood, still threatened her. That he even owed her; for he did not doubt that the danger, and the solitude in which, but for him, it had to be faced, had done much to ripen and to quicken her regard for him. As for himself, with such a woman as the Countess in the case, he was not prepared to own the need of any external or accidental stimulus. Yet beauty distressed is beauty doubled; that is true all the world over, and, no doubt, it held good even for Captain Dieppe. He had been loyal—under the circumstances wonderfully loyal—to the Count; but he felt quite justified, if he proved equal to the task, in robbing his friend of the privilege of forgiveness—aye, and of the pleasure of paying fifty thousand francs. He resolved that the Count of Fieramondi should never know of Paul de Roustache's threats against the Countess or of his demand for that exorbitant sum of money.
With most people in moments of exaltation to resolve that a result is desirable is but a preliminary to undertaking its realisation. Dieppe had more than his share of this temper. He bent down towards his new and dear friend, and said confidently:
"Don't distress yourself about this fellow—I 'll manage the whole affair without trouble or publicity." Yet he had no notion how his words were to be made good.
"You will?" she asked, with a confidence in the Captain apparently as great as his own.
"Certainly," said he, with a twirl of his moustache.
"Then I 'd better leave it to you and go home at once."