Her lashes drooped; her attitude became less aggressive; her eyes, from beneath their dark curtains, rested on him for a moment. What it was in that glance so effective is not susceptible to analysis. Was it the appeal that awakened the quixotic sense of honor; the helplessness arousing compassion; the irresistible quality of a brimming eye so fatal to masculine 167 calculation and positiveness? Whatever it was, it dispelled the contraction on the land baron’s face, and––despite his threats, vows!––he was swayed by a look.
“Forgive me,” he said, tenderly.
“You will drive back?”
“Yes; I will win you in your own way, fairly and honestly! I will take you back, though the whole country laughs at me. Win or lose, back we go, for––I love you!” And impetuously he threw his arm around her waist.
Simulation could not stand the test; it was no longer acting, but reality; she had set herself to a rôle she could not perform. Hating him for that free touch, she forcibly extricated herself with an exclamation and an expression of countenance there was no mistaking. From Mauville’s face the glad light died; he regarded her once more cruelly, vindictively.
“You dropped the mask too soon,” he said, coldly. “I was not prepared for rehearsal, although you were perfect. You are even a better actress than I thought you, than which”––mockingly––“I can pay you no better compliment.”
She looked at him with such scorn he laughed, though his eyes flashed.
“Bravo!” he exclaimed.
While thus confronting each other a footfall sounded without, the door burst open, and the driver of the coach, with features drawn by fear, unceremoniously entered the room. The patroon turned on him enraged, 168 but the latter without noticing his master’s displeasure, exclaimed hurriedly:
“The anti-renters are coming!”