"No," he said quietly. "You'll not go alone. You're in my charge. Where you go, I go—unless of course"—and he pointed toward the railroad which passed nearby, "I put you on the train for Paris."
She had not expected that. She was powerless and knew it. Wide-eyed she sought his face, but he met her look squarely.
"I mean it," he said evenly. "You shall do what I say."
Her gaze flared angrily and then fell.
"Oh!" she stammered. "You would dare!"
"Your remedy—is yonder," he said firmly, pointing to the Gare.
Some loiterers, a few children and a stray dog had gathered about them. The dog, a puppy, barked at Clarissa and was promptly kicked for its precocity. The crowd laughed. This relaxed the tension of the situation.
"Come," said Markham, his hand on the donkey's halter. "This will never do. We will go on, please."
Hermia stood her ground a moment defiantly, her arms akimbo and then dumbly followed.
Markham led the way toward the market-place, where the crowds were gathered. The glance he stole at Hermia revealed a set expression, a cheek highly flushed and a lambent eye.