“Can’t, dear brigand,” said Daniel.
Then Berthe spoke. “Please, messieurs,” she began, “Her Majesty is not––”
“It’s only a maidservant,” Rodrigo exclaimed in chagrin.
“Don’t make any difference,” said Boone, “she’s come a-visiting.”
“If, Seigneur Brigand,” spoke a clear voice, “you had not interrupted Mademoiselle Berthe, you would stand informed by now that Her Majesty is not here. Will you deign to close the door?”
312Rodrigo knew well those bell-like tones. Forgetting the question of an empress, he drew nearer to the lady of the rocker. She gave him no heed, but her profile against the red glow was very soft and beautiful. His chagrin vanished. Here was a more ravishing triumph.
“A vengeance in kind,” he muttered, wetting his lips. “Ha, he took nobody’s wife, as to that; and his wife may go. But in the matter of sweethearts–ah!”
Bending, he laid a hand caressingly on her neck, against the tendrils.
At the touch she sprang to her feet, and Boone leaped forward with fist drawn back. But both stopped. Her face changed from fury to pallor. Boone’s expressed approval.
The room had filled through the open door with men and torches, but the first man among them had come as far as Rodrigo’s shoulder even as the insult occurred. From behind, the man’s arm had straightened under Rodrigo’s chin, and twisting to a lever, was gradually forcing back his head. Rodrigo groped for a knife, but half way to his waist the fingers clutched vainly in a sharp spasm, and all involuntarily flew up and gripped at the vise under his chin. Yet another ounce of pressure, and it seemed his neck must snap like a dry twig. Suddenly his spine bent limp. Muscles relaxed. The whole body capitulated. Then the man behind stooped a little, and Rodrigo began to rise. Slowly at first, and next, as from a catapult, the brigand shot backward over the man’s shoulder and struck his length on the floor.