He stood before her with his hat in his hand, the other hand resting on his hip smiling, confident, the one long, black lock of hair hanging nearly in his eyes. He made no comment, but she saw that he was noting the ravages which the intervening hours had left in her face. Beneath his smile there was something hard and pitiless—a look that the executioner of a de Medici might have worn—and for a moment it put her at a loss for words. Then with an attempt at her old-time camaraderie, she shoved a glass toward him—
His white teeth flashed in a fleeting smile—
"If you will join me—in my last drink?"
For answer she filled his glass and hers.
He raised it and looked at her.
"I give you—the sweetest thing in the world."
Her lip curled.
"Love?"
His black eyes glittered between their narrowed lids.
"The power to avenge the wrongs of the helpless."