At the sound of the voice she gained courage. Monsieur had come to her. Trembling, yet still undismayed, she crept to the door and opened it.
The face of the Frenchman was dark and impassive. If the night had brought a new resolution to her, it was plain that monsieur was in no wise different from yesterday. All this she noted while her hand still clung falteringly to the knob of the door.
“Madame,” he began, “the matter is most urgent. If it will please you to follow me—”
Mistress Barbara with difficulty found her tongue.
“Where, monsieur. What—”
“Madame, I pray that you will make haste. There is little time to lose. I should be at this moment upon the deck.”
“Monsieur would take me—?”
“Below the water-line, madame. There will be a fight. Shots may be fired. I would have you in safety.”
Alas for Mistress Barbara’s crafty plans and gentle resolutions. In a moment they were dissipated by the imperturbability, the tepid indifference of his manner, which should have been so different in the face of a situation which promised so much that was ominous to her. His coolness fell about her like a bucket of water, and sent a righteous anger to her rescue, so that her chill terror was driven forth for the nonce by a flush of hot blood. When she spoke, her voice rang clear with a certain bitter courage.