"Monsieur Julien," she faltered,—
He suddenly changed his tone.
"Am I cruel?" he asked. "Forgive me, mademoiselle—forgive me,
Marguerite."
She held out her delicately gloved hand towards him; her face she turned a little away and one gathered that there were tears in her eyes which she did not wish him to see.
"Take off my glove, please," she whispered. "I did not think you would be so cruel even for a moment."
He took her fingers in his, fingers which promptly returned his pressure. His right arm stole around her.
"Monsieur Sir Julien," she continued very softly, "please promise that you will speak to me no more now of Herr Freudenberg. Tell me that you are glad I have come. Say some more of those pretty things that you whispered to me in the Rat Mort."
His arm tightened about her. She was powerless.
"Julien!" she murmured.
He laughed quietly. Suddenly she struggled to escape from him.