"Monsieur," she cried, "back with you!"
Pakenham, angered as he was, seemed half to hear my footsteps, seemed half to know the swinging of the draperies, even as I stepped back in obedience to her gesture. Her wit was quick as ever.
"My lord," she said, "pray close yonder window. The draft is bad, and, moreover, we should have secrecy." He obeyed her, and she led him still further from the thought of investigating his surroundings.
"Now, my lord," she said, "take back what you have just said!"
"Under penalty?" he sneered.
"Of your life, yes."
"So!" he grunted admiringly; "well, now, I like fire in a woman, even a deceiving light-o'-love like you!"
"Monsieur!" her voice cried again; and once more it restrained me in my hiding.
"You devil!" he resumed, sneering now in all his ugliness of wine and rage and disappointment. "What were you? Mistress of the prince of France! Toy of a score of nobles! Slave of that infamous rake, your husband! Much you've got in your life to make you uppish now with me!"
"My lord," she said evenly, "retract that. If you do not, you shall not leave this place alive."