THE BOND
The habit of domination Stanief assuredly had, however gracefully it were disguised. Nor was Allard, bruised with conflict, exhausted, dazed, in the mood to resist. He desired feverishly to speak; to tell his story and let Stanief, fully informed, decide whether the aid already given was to be continued further. The idea of a deception, a false belief in an injustice suffered by him, was intolerable. But Stanief smilingly imposed silence, and he yielded passively.
The cigars burned out slowly, the tumult on shore died away. A quivering vibration awoke to delicate life the yacht. Stanief smoked or played with his coffee-cup, his heavy double fringe of lashes brushing his cheek; Allard leaned back in his chair, less in reverie than in utter exhaustion.
Exactly as the bells rang the hour came the metallic clank of anchor chains. The yacht shuddered under the screw, the glass and china tinkled faintly, then all settled into regularity as the engines fell into their gait and the beautiful boat moved down the river.
"And Vasili is out there in poignant distress because he can not come in 'to have the honor to report that we sail,'" remarked Stanief, breaking the long pause. "It was daringly conceived, Monsieur John, but were you not a trifle imprudent in speaking before that brilliant visitor of ours? Your voice?"
Allard aroused himself abruptly.
"Our speech back there was confined to monosyllables," he answered. "No, your Royal Highness, I think there was no risk."
Stanief did not deprecate the title, perhaps unnoting, perhaps willing to let the other learn.
"We are on the high seas, and quite free from listeners," he said composedly. "I ask no questions, demand nothing of you, but if you indeed wish to speak of the closed episode, Monsieur John, I am ready. After to-night we shall have other things to occupy us."
Allard leaned forward eagerly, his clear gray eyes baring to the other man all their tragedy and compelling truth.