In twenty minutes the gate of the garden opened, and Jacques appeared with Saracen. The horse's black skin glistened in the lights, and he tossed his head and champed his bit. Gaston rose. Mademoiselle Cerise sprang to her feet and ran forward. Jacques put out his hand to stop her, and Gaston caught her shoulder. "He's wicked with strangers," Gaston said. "Chat!" she rejoined, stepped quickly to the horse's head and, laughing, put out her hand to stroke him. Jacques caught the beast's nose, and stopped a lunge of the great white teeth.
"Enough, madame, he will kill you!"
"Yet I am beautiful—is it not so?"
"The poor beast is ver' blind."
"A pretty compliment," she rejoined, yet angry at the beast.
Gaston came, took the animal's head in his hands, and whispered. Saracen became tranquil. Gaston beckoned to Mademoiselle Cerise. She came. He took her hand in his and put it at the horse's lips. The horse whinnied angrily at first, but permitted a caress from the actress's fingers.
"He does not make friends easily," said Gaston. "Nor does his master."
Her eyes lifted to his, the lids drooping suggestively. "But when the pact is made—!"
"Till death us do part?"
"Death or ruin."