“Oh, you will?” she said; and looked at me doubtfully, but with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.
“Yes, mademoiselle; I am capable even of that heroism.”
“I hear that you surrendered rather easily this morning,” she taunted.
“There was a pistol at my ear,” I explained, “and the face of M. le Comte behind it. I saw no reason to throw away my life for nothing more important than a horse. I am doubly glad now that I was so sensible.”
She looked at me, her brows uplifted.
“Life means more to me now than it did this morning,” I hastened to explain. “Oh, vastly more! So I rejoice that I am not lying back there on the road with a bullet through me. Even had M. le Comte missed me, I should not be here.”
“He would not have missed. A pistol in the hands of M. le Comte is a dangerous thing.”
“I have never encountered but one thing more dangerous, mademoiselle.”
“And that?”
“A pair of brown eyes, levelled at me by a person who knows their power,” I answered, and trembled at my temerity.