“Countess Elveda informs me,” he said, “that you would like to dance now, and I am going to have another minuet for you.”
Margaret arose, took a step forward, and fell back in her chair.
“I should be glad to obey my aunt,” she said firmly, “but you see, baron, that I cannot, and I do not suppose that you want to torture me.”
The baron started. He was a man of intelligence, perfectly well-bred, and excessively suspicious. The countess had not deceived him so effectually that he was not capable of understanding the slightest hint, and Margaret’s aversion was too evident to be mistaken. He smiled bitterly, and replied with sarcastic courtesy:
“You are a thousand times too good, mademoiselle, and I trust you will believe that I feel your kindness deeply.”
He turned immediately to Olga, invited her, and led her away; while Margaret snatched the elegant bracelet from her arm, and slipped it into the ambitious young creature’s hand.
“Monsieur Goefle,” she said to Cristiano, eagerly, although with a trembling voice, “you have brought me happiness. I am saved!”
“And yet you are pale,” said Cristiano; “you are trembling.”
“I cannot help it! I was so frightened. And I am frightened still, for I cannot help thinking how angry my aunt will be. But no matter, I have got rid of the baron. He will revenge himself; he will kill me, perhaps. But I shall not be his wife; I shall not bear his name. I shall never touch his blood-stained hand.”
“Be quiet, for heaven’s sake be quiet!” said Mademoiselle Potin, who was as pale and frightened as herself; “some one may hear you. You have been very brave, and I congratulate you. But you are really timid, and all this excitement will make you ill. Mon Dieu! don’t faint, my dear child. Take your smelling-bottle.”