"And after that?" he demanded a little eagerly.
"After that," she replied wearily, "you may say what you will."
"Until that hour, then," he said gently, "I shall set a seal upon my lips."
A silence fell between them. The count brooded, his eyelids down-dropped, his chin propped in the palm of his hand. A ruby, set in a curious antique ring, gleamed dully from his finger.
"I think," he observed finally in a low voice, "that Mr. Grayson is, by this time, safely upon the Continent. Paris—Rome?" He shook his head. "Too dangerous. Madrid? It is possible. Yes." He nodded, and then sat erect. "To-night, mademoiselle," he announced, "I shall start for Madrid to find your father."
She thanked him with her eyes. "And you will stop this terrible scheme—you will save him from Baggin?"
"I will save him from Baggin!" he promised grimly. "More than that, dear lady, I cannot undertake."
She gave him a shining look. "Ah, you are good," she whispered. She laid a hand on his arm. "Good and—and faithful!"
The count seemed deeply moved. He looked down at the hand, but made no motion to touch it. "Mademoiselle," he said in a strange, choked voice, "it is you who are good! You conquer me with your divine tenderness!" A spasm as of pain crossed his countenance. "I—I am not good, as the world knows that word. I am hard, ambitious, cruel." He continued, his face white and stern: "Power is to me the greatest thing in the world, greater than love—even my love for you—greater than life. For what is human life? It is cheaper than the dirt in the street. Why should we value it? For myself, it signifies nothing. When it obstructs my path, I set it aside—or crush it."
She drew back from him half fearfully. A lock of dark hair had escaped, and fallen across her brow. It made her look singularly young and troubled. "Why do you say those wild things?" she faltered.