I pressed it back, but she waved her hand.
“Keep it, monsieur,” she said simply, “I have the mate.”
“You are never without arms then, mademoiselle?” I said.
She glanced at me searchingly, and instantly I remembered Von Gaden’s remark that she had her father’s spirit. There was something about her mouth which suggested the quick decision and unfaltering resolution that properly belong to the sterner sex.
“I am never unprepared for the worst, M. de Brousson,” she replied calmly. “I have neither father nor mother nor brother to protect me. I am an orphan, and here in Russia a girl has little freedom of choice.”
“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” I said, strongly moved, “I have learned that your uncle is forcing an unwelcome marriage upon you; are you in any danger of being compelled to submission?”
The color blazed on the delicate cheek, and for a moment I saw pride struggling with a weaker feeling; then her eyes filled with tears, and she clasped her hands together in an effort to maintain her composure.
“I cannot be forced into that marriage, monsieur,” she said in a low voice, “for I can die.”
“Mademoiselle!” I cried out, “is it as bad as that?”
She bent her head, and I saw the tears glistening on her eyelashes. I forgot my situation, I forgot my absurd guise, and in a moment I was kneeling beside her, with one of her hands clasped in mine.