Her face blanched white, but she laughed.
"No De Ferrier ever took a base advantage of royal favor. Don't you think this is a strange conversation in a drawing-room of the Empire? I hated myself for being here—until you came in."
"Eagle, have you forgotten our supper on the island?"
"Yes, sire." She scarcely breathed the word.
"My unanointed title is Lazarre. And I suppose you have forgotten the fog and the mountain, too?"
"Yes."
"Lazarre!"
"Yes, Lazarre."
"You love me! You shall love me!"
"As a De Ferrier should; no farther!"