"Afraid?"
"Afraid that he had recognised me."
"Mon Dieu! Of what are you guilty?"
"I am not guilty."
"Of what are you accused?"
"I can tell you nothing," she gasped.
"You shall tell me all!" I swore. "In the name of my love I demand it of you. Speak! Why did you fear his recognition?"
Her head drooped pitifully.
"Because I wanted you to recognise me first!"
For a tense moment I gazed at her bewildered. In the next, I cursed myself for a fool—I blushed for my suspicions, my obtuseness—I sought dizzily the words, the prescribed words that I must speak.