It was thirty feet to the stones below—sure death that way. But she had given us a respite; something might yet be done. I seized M. Étienne's arm in a grip that should tell him how serious was our pass. Remembering, for a marvel, my foreign tongue, I bespoke him:
"Brother, it grows late. We must go. It will soon be dark. We must go now—now!"
He turned on me with an impatient frown, but before he could answer, Mme. de Montpensier cried, with a laugh:
"And do you fear the dark, wench? Marry, you look as if you could take care of yourself."
"Nay, madame," I protested, "but the box. Come, Giovanni. If we linger, we may be robbed in the dark streets."
"Why, my sister, where are your manners?" he retorted, striving to shake me off. "The ladies have not yet dismissed me."
"We shall be robbed of the box," I persisted; "and the night air is bad for your health, my Nino. If you stay longer you will have trouble in the throat."
He looked at me hard. I tried to make my eyes tell him that my fear was no vague one of the streets, that his throat was in peril here and now. He understood; he cried with merry laughter to Mme. de Montpensier:
"Pray excuse her lack of manners, duchessa. I know what moves the maid. I must tell you that in the house where we lodge dwells also a beautiful young captain—beautiful as the day. It's little of his time he spends at home, but we have observed that he comes every evening to array himself grandly for supper at some one's palace. We count our day lost an we cannot meet him, by accident, on the stairs."
They all laughed. I, with my cheeks burning like any silly maid's, set to work to put up our scattered wares. But despair weighed me down; if we had to remember ceremony we were lost. The ladies were protesting, declaring they had not made their bargains, and monsieur was smirking and bowing, as if he had the whole night before him. Our one chance was to bolt; to charge past the sentry and flee as from the devil. I pulled monsieur's arm again, and muttered in his ear: