The door was pushed open, and Mrs. Breakspear could scarcely suppress a scream at sight of the man who entered, for his face was hidden behind a black silk vizard, such as might be worn at a bal masqué, and through the holes of the vizard two eyes could be seen sparkling, so it seemed to Mrs. Breakspear, with a sinister expression. A low-crowned soft hat covered his head; and a cloak, reaching to his heels, completely concealed his person.
He came forward a few paces, glancing round the room as he did so, and seeming to derive satisfaction from the fact that it contained no persons more formidable than a woman and a child.
"You are alarmed, madame, but without reason," he began. "It is not my purpose to do you hurt—" he paused for a moment, and then added, "unless your obstinacy should call for it."
The man's voice was altogether strange to Mrs. Breakspear. He spoke in French, but with an accent that somehow impressed her with the belief that he was an Englishman: one, too, accustomed to move in good society.
"The first fact I would impress upon your mind is this," continued the stranger, "that you are alone, unprotected, in my power absolutely. If you raise your voice there is no one either in the house or in the street to hear you. The town is practically deserted. All are gone to the Pardon, a fact I have taken into my calculations. If you will reflect upon this, it may facilitate my errand."
These words, and the tone in which they were spoken, did not tend to allay Mrs. Breakspear's fears. With difficulty she gathered voice to speak.
"Who are you?"
A smile appeared beneath the fringe of the silken vizard.
"This mask is sufficient proof that I wish to conceal my identity."
"What do you want?"