“No, Ramon! No-no!” she cried and sped through the door to fling herself between him and his victims.
Her arms were stretched wide and she halted, almost touching him, with her back to the chained man towards whom she had not glanced, but she could not help seeing the charcoal brazier with the red-hot branding irons held by Fidelio. The gasping cry had come from Conrad by whom the brazier was set.
Ramon Rotil stared at her, frowning as if he would fling her from his path as he had the priest.
“No, Ramon!” she said again, still with that supplicating look and gesture, “send them out of here,––both these men. I would smother and die in a room with that German beast. You will not be sorry, Ramon Rotil, I promise you that,––I promise you by the God I dare not face!”
“No, Ramon! No!” she cried, and flung herself between him and his victims.
“Ho!” snarled Perez. “Is the priest also her lover that she–––”
“Send the German out, and let José Perez stay to see that I keep my promise,” she said letting her arms fall at her side, but facing Rotil with an addition of hauteur in her poise and glance. “The price he will pay for the words he has spoken here will be a heavy price,––one he has risked life to hold! Send that pale snake and your men outside, Ramon.”
Perez was leaning forward, his face strained and white, watching her. He could not see her face, but the glimpse of hope came again into his eyes––a woman might succeed with Rotil where a priest would fail!