When Le Breton came he found Pansy on the terrace. Once he was seated, she told him what had happened to her father's party. Then she went back to the beginning, sixteen years before, with the story of the youthful Sultan; but she did not mention that she had been wounded and ill, for fear of having to meet a host of anxious enquiries.
Without comment he listened.
When she finished, all he said was:
"Well, I suppose the Sultan has his point of view, since it appears your father was responsible for the death of his."
"But it was my father's duty to condemn him. He would hate doing it, for he can't bear to hurt people. It was not 'murder,' as the present Sultan seems to think."
To this Le Breton had nothing to say.
"You must let the French Government know my father is a prisoner here," she went on. "Then they'll send an expedition and rescue him and his officers."
"I couldn't do that, Pansy. You forget I'm half Arab. I can't go back on my father's people."
Pansy had forgotten this fact about him; and it seemed her father's freedom was not quite so close at hand as she had imagined.
"Could I send my father a note?" she asked anxiously. "That cruel Sultan sent him to see me sold. It must have been torture for him; for I'm all he's got, and he's awfully fond of me. I want to say I'm safe here with you. I can't bear to think of him in torment."