She smiled wanly.
"Is this love?"
"Is it! What is love? Love is giving—yielding. Love knows neither country nor patriotism nor religion!" His glittering eyes were still holding hers. "And so," his voice was low but masterful, "I ask you—not that I care vitally for the answer of itself; you must know, must understand my motives—I ask you, did the D'Estang discharge a torpedo to-night?"
Long they looked at each other and then slowly the girl shook her head.
"You mean no? She did not?" Koltsoff's voice was eager, his arms tightened about her.
"I do not mean anything."
Then suddenly she twisted out of his arms and stood with white face and parted lips, pointing to the stairway.
"Now," she cried, "go! Go, I tell you," she stamped her foot as Koltsoff hesitated. "Go, or I shall hate you!"