He frowned. "It matters not how she died." He sat on the edge of the table and swung one leg to and fro. "Some men would give their chance of heaven for a taste of those lips."
"Your chance of heaven, Monsieur, is remote." The setting sun came in through the door and filled her eyes with a golden haze. If there was any fear, the pride on her face hid it.
"Ye gods, but you are a beauty! I can wait no longer for that kiss."
His leg slid from the table. He walked toward her, and she shrank back till she met with the wall. He sprang forward, laughing. She struggled in his strong arms, uselessly. With one hand he pressed up her chin and kissed her squarely on the lips. Then he let her go. She drew her hand across her mouth and spat upon the floor.
"What! So soon, Madame?"
Her bosom rose and fell quickly, as much from rage and hate as from the exertion of the struggle.
"God will punish you, Monsieur, as he punishes all men who abuse their strength as you have done,—punish you for the misery you have brought upon me."
"What! and I bring you love?"
She wiped her lips again, this time on her sleeve.
"Does it burn like that, then?" laughing.