For answer Lucette fixed her eyes upon him reproachfully and then sighed again; and her eyes could speak in a language few men could read unmoved.
“I knew you were cruel, but—oh, do leave me.”
His hand sought hers. She let him take it and returned the pressure of his fingers, which trembled.
“You have never met me in the wood, Lucette,” he whispered.
“You have never asked me, Jacques. I never thought——” and she faltered and broke down.
“Be there at set of sun this evening.”
“No, no, I could not; I dare not. I could never do that—but I often walk there—Jacques.”
“And this evening?” He was trembling again in his eagerness.
Her eyes said yes, the pressure of her tell-tale fingers confirmed it, and the sigh she gave sent him into an ecstasy.
“I believe you do but play with poor me,” she whispered.