“Din Driscoll!”
The man blurted it out like a whipped schoolboy. He 515could not look up. He could only feel that she stood there, stricken, suffering.
“Where is he?”
He could not believe that this was her voice. It was hardened, tearless, without emotion.
“Monsieur–where is he?”
The girl at his side sprang up with a sharp cry to her who questioned. Then he raised his eyes. Jacqueline was unaware of the sobbing girl who clung to her. Her face was changed to marble, her body as rigid.
“Take me to him,” she spoke again, still with that deathly authority of the grave.
The man stammered before what he had done. The great beads stood out on his forehead. “You would not–you must not–you––”
“He is mine,” she said simply. “Wait, I shall be ready, at once.” She passed into an inner room, the portières falling after her.
“She’s–she’s getting on her hat,” Boone muttered inanely. “Buh’the, she’s got to be stopped! She’s–God, why don’t he come? It’s shuah ten minutes. It’s–What’s that?”