"Speak to him, mademoiselle," he said; "perchance the dulcet tones of Beauty may move the Beast to speech."
I smiled at him addressing her as "mademoiselle."
She shook her head. "Methinks it's Balaam not Beauty you need."
He laughed. "Even that does not stir him—the fellow must be deaf."
"Try signs on him." she suggested.
"Good! I'll sign to him we want to see his face."
"How, pray?"
"By pulling off his mask," he answered—and put out his hand, as though to do it. With his fingers almost on it, he paused.
I stood quite still. I felt perfectly sure he would not touch me; but, if he did, I intended to knock him down. And I was not mistaken. After a moment, he dropped his arm.
The woman laughed. "Your nerve failed—his didn't," she said dryly.