"It's not wonderful at all—it's what all the world does without our good reason." She pressed closer to his side; then, as if feeling the sudden frost that had fallen on his spirit, she drew away, but smiling and unchilled. "Dear lord and master, I give you warning, I've done with fearing. I see that Life means well by us; I sha'n't doubt her any more."
"Unberufen"; and he smote the wooden balustrade with his hand.
"I tell you plainly"—she flashed a tender defiance in his face—"the Fates gave me a very small stock of fear to begin with, and I've used it up. It's"—she held up her little hands and flung them out to the right and left—"all gone!"
"Hush; don't jest about it, dear."
"Never was more serious. I'm warning you. Not all the king's horses nor all the king's men—"
"Hush, hush!"
"Not even"—with a disdainful toe she touched the yellow-covered book that lay on the balcony floor—"not even your old Dumas fils can frighten me."
"I never heard him accused of trying."
"Oh yes, and most insidiously, in those lines he wrote to go before Diane de Lys."