“By Jove!” muttered the boy; “that is an ugly mug. I wonder if he really meant to give me a chance as one of the brotherhood?”
“Surely he did,” declared the masked unknown. “He admired your nerve, and he believed you would make a good anarchist—one who could be depended on to execute the orders of those high in power and authority. I did hope that you might consent to join the band, for that would have kept me from turning traitor—from lifting my hand against one of the brotherhood. But when you refused, then I knew I must strike quickly, or it would be all over with you.”
“Well, I am greatly obliged. You did the job nicely, and I congratulate you. You struck him hard enough to crack his skull.”
“Ah! what a miserable creature I am!” she cried, passionately. “What will not a woman do if she is in love!”
“Cæsar’s ghost!” thought Frank. “I am in a pretty box! When she finds I am not in love with her, she will hate me again, and then I will stand a good chance of getting her dagger right where I live. That’s pleasant to contemplate!”
But he was no longer bound, and he could make one more struggle for life. There was no little satisfaction in that thought. Almost anything was preferable to his position of a short time before.
He felt one of Mademoiselle Mystere’s arms slip around his neck, and she was breathing swiftly, hotly at his ear:
“You must take me to America—anywhere that is far from Paris and the brotherhood! I have done all this for you! I have made myself false to my oath, and I shall be despised ever after by my own brother and his comrades. Think of that, my hero! Think what a poor fool of a girl has done for you!”
The situation was far from pleasant for Frank Merriwell, who could but compare this strange woman with a tigress.
He thought of dark-eyed Inza, whom he had known at Fardale, and who had been the “Queen of Flowers” at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. He thought of Elsie Bellwood, with blue eyes and golden hair—Elsie whom he had saved from many dangers, and who loved him tenderly, truly.