She advanced upon me holding out her silken purse which she had taken from her bosom; but I retreated.
"No, no, mademoiselle," I cried, ashamed of my hot words; "we are not penniless—or if we are, we get on very well sans le sou. They do everything for monsieur at the Trois Lanternes, and he has only to return to the Hôtel St. Quentin to get all the gold pieces he can spend. Oh, no; we are in no want, mademoiselle. I was angry when I said it; I did not mean it. I cry mademoiselle's pardon."
She looked at me a little hesitatingly.
"You are telling me true?"
"Why, yes, mademoiselle; if my monsieur needed money, indeed, indeed, I would not refuse it."
"Then if you cannot take it for him, you can take it for yourself. It will be strange if in all Paris you cannot find something you like as a token from me." With her own white fingers she slipped some tinkling coins into my pouch, and cut short my thanks with the little wailing cry:
"Oh, your poor, bound hands! I have my poniard in my dress. I could free them in a second. But if they knew I had been here with you they never will let you go."
"If mademoiselle is running into danger staying here, I pray her to go back to bed. M. Étienne did not send me hither to bring her grief and trouble."
"Who are you?" she asked me abruptly. "You have never been here before on monsieur's errands?"
"No, mademoiselle; I came up only yesterday from Picardie. I belong on the St. Quentin estate. My name is Félix Broux."