It was the first good square look I had had at her, and I was surprised to find that she was both young and surpassingly handsome—an aristocrat to her finger tips, although plainly dressed like one of the people. Her features were finely chiselled, she had an air of unmistakable refinement, she carried herself with the dignity of a person of rank, and her eyes, large and of a singular greenish brown hue, were bent upon me with the expression of one accustomed to expect ready compliance with her wishes. She had entirely recovered her self-possession and in some way had braided up the mass of golden auburn hair, the dishevelled condition of which I had noticed in the moment of my entrance.
“You are probably right, madame,” I said; “but I don’t care for the idea of being locked in here while those rascals fetch some companions.”
I addressed her as madame; but she couldn’t be more than four or five and twenty, and might be much younger.
“There will be no danger, monsieur,” she replied in a tone of complete confidence.
“There appeared to be plenty of it just now; and the sooner we are out of this place, the better I shall be pleased.” And with that I turned to the window to see if we could get out that way. It was, however, closely barred.
“You may accept my assurance. These men have been acting under a complete misunderstanding. They will bring some one who will explain everything to them.”
“Dr. Barosa, you mean?”
“What do you know of him?” The question came sharply and with a touch of suspicion, as it seemed to me.
“Nothing, except that I heard you mention him just as I entered.”
She paused a moment, keeping her eyes on my face, and then, with a little shrug, she turned away. “I will see if my ser—my companion is much hurt,” she said, and bent over the man who was lying against the wall.