Pansy found herself in a room that looked more like a sumptuous office than anything else, with a balcony that jutted over the lake.
At a large desk a man was seated in a white drill suit with a black cummerbund, who rose at her entry and smiled at her, as if the last week had never been; as if he were still Raoul Le Breton and there had been no unveiling.
"Well, Pansy, it's flattering to think you want to see me," he remarked.
Pansy did not waste any time before stating the reason of her visit.
"Is it true you're going to sell Rayma?" she asked in a horror-stricken tone.
The mere mention of her name made a savage expression flit across his face.
"What I'm going to do with her is my own concern."
"How can you be such a brute, such a savage, so abominably cruel?" she cried, distress in her voice.
"Do you know, my little slave, that you're the only person in the place who dare take me to task about my doings?" he remarked.
Pansy did not know, or care; her only desire was to save him from himself.