In the second’s pause before I replied, many of the complicating possibilities involved in it flashed upon me as his burning almost passionate gaze was bent upon me.
I pushed my chair back, rose and gripped his hand. “We must talk this over, Ladislas, as friends.”
“Answer me. Answer me,” he cried, trying to release his hand. “I must know, before we talk of friendship.”
“I will answer you. I give you my honour you shall have nothing but the truth from me; but I must first know all that lies behind the question and all that depends upon it. Come, man, speak out. Don’t try to drag your hand away. We are men as well as dear friends; and whatever has to be said or done, must not and shall not break our friendship.” I placed my other hand on his shoulder. “Can’t you agree to this?”
“Not if you have come between me and her.”
“You are unbalanced in your excitement, or you would never say that to me. Understand what I say. Nothing—mark, nothing shall ever make me other than your friend.”
I felt him trembling under my hand; and again he tried to free himself.
“No, Ladislas; I do not let you go until you agree in that. You saved my life once. Do you think I forget? I told you then that if the day ever came for me to pay the debt, I should be glad. Now, what is this girl to you?”
“More than my life. My God, much more. More than even my honour, I believe, God help me.”
I steadied myself and spoke firmly. “What is it you ask of me?”