"Oh, ça!" she said with a quick gesture. "Il est bête. He would never know."
Jim Horton put his hands on her shoulders and made her look in his eyes.
"That's not the way, Piquette. You are too fine not to see. I can't be an object of your charity any longer—because it's his charity. I owe you my life. I want to pay—but not like this. I want you to see my gratitude in my eyes, the depth of my friendship, I want you to know that what you've done for me has given a new meaning to courage and unselfishness."
She turned her head away as he paused, and then gently took his hands from her shoulders.
"I can pay, Piquette," he insisted quietly. "You do not love the Duc de Vautrin. Come away from here with me. I have a little money. I can get more from America. We will find you a place in the Quartier where you will be happy until you have the home you deserve——"
"And you——," she faltered.
"What I do doesn't matter. An outcast——"
She started.
"You will leave Paris?"
"I do not know."