There, I have made that confession as plainly as I mean to make it. I put out of my mind what Demetri might be planning as he polished his knife and hummed One-eyed Alexander’s chant.
Apparently Mouraki did not think the matter worth his care. He had approached very near to Phroso now, leaning down towards her as she sat on the rock. Suddenly I heard a low cry of terror, and ‘No, no,’ in horrified accents; but Mouraki, raising his voice a little, answered, ‘Yes, yes.’
I strained my ears to hear; nay, I half rose from where I sat, and sank back only under the pointed hint of a soldier’s bayonet. I could not hear the words, but a soft pleading murmur came from Phroso, a short relentless laugh from Mouraki, a silence, a shrug of Mouraki’s shoulders. Then he turned and came across to me.
‘Stand back a little,’ said he to the soldiers, ‘but keep your eyes on your prisoner, and if he attempts any movement—’ He did not finish the sentence, which indeed was plain enough without a formal ending. Then he began to speak to me in French.
‘A beautiful thing, my dear lord,’ said he, ‘is the devotion of women. Fortunate are you who have found two ladies to love you!’
‘You’ve been married twice yourself, I think you told me?’
‘It’s not exactly the same thing—not necessarily. I am very likely to be married a third time, but I fear I should flatter myself if I thought that much love would accompany the lady’s hand. However it was of you that I desired to speak. This lady here, my dear lord, is so attached to you that I believe she will marry me, purely to ensure your safety. Isn’t it a touching sacrifice?’
‘I hope she’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said I.
‘Well, it’s little more than a polite fiction,’ he conceded; ‘for she’ll be compelled to marry me anyhow. But it’s the sort of idea that comforts a woman.’