Ned transmitted the inquiry with a look.
“No, pray, monsieur—not for me,” murmured the girl.
“Very well,” said Ned frigidly. “It will not be needed, my Théophile.”
The landlord protested, bowed, and flirted himself from the room. The two were left alone.
Ned walked to the window, lifted the blind a moment, and looked out upon the dumb white whirling of the snow. Then suddenly he spoke over his shoulder—
“Go and warm yourself at the fire.”
She crept to the hearth immediately and sat herself before the glow, putting out to it her stiff frozen hands in token of obedience.
He took to pacing up and down the room, not removing from his shoulders the thick redingote in which he was wrapped. Presently he came and stood near her, his elbow resting upon the mantel-shelf.
“I want you to listen to me,” he said.
She uttered no sound, but only looked up at him, pathetically pliant to his will. Her prince, for all her sins, had come to her with the glass slipper. Would her poor swollen foot ever go into it? Her blue eyes, like a child’s, sought his pity and forgiveness.