He called Jacques.
“Take the cub to its quarters, Jacques,” he said, quietly.
She seemed about to protest, but sat back and watched him. He shut the door—locked it. Then he came and sat down before her.
“Andree,” he said, “this is all impossible.”
“What is impossible?”
“You know well. I am not a mere brute. The only thing that can redeem this life is love.”
“That is true,” she said, coldly. “What then?”
“You do not redeem it. We must part.”
She laughed fitfully. “We must—?”
She leaned towards him.