“Mademoiselle,” he said, “permit me at least to attend you through the streets.”
She halted at the door, confused; her woman had gone out upon the stairs, and the two stood face to face.
“You cannot go, monsieur,” she said, with a falter in her voice; “your attendance upon me would lead to worse trouble for you—and for me!”
“If it touches you, mademoiselle, I will not stir,” he replied; “otherwise, I pray you not to deny me the small privilege of attending one who has thrice saved my life.”
“It would be my peril, Sieur de Calvisson,” she said softly. “Adieu!”
She hesitated on the threshold, her mask hiding her face; then she held out her hand and he took it in both his.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, very low, “I would cheerfully give my life to defend yours, and the time may come when I pray you to remember that I will accept no benefit which shall be to your detriment.”
He thought he saw surprise in her eyes; but he pressed her hand to his lips, and in a moment she was gone and he heard her light footfall on the stairs. Flushed with emotion, and with a hundred conflicting thoughts, he moved to the window to watch her leave the house; but as he saw her come out on the step below, he heard some one in the hall, and looking up, saw Ninon on the threshold.
“Mademoiselle dropped her handkerchief, I think,” she said, pretending to search upon the floor.
Péron took the taper from the table to aid her, and the two stooping down to look beneath the table came very near together. It was then that the woman found her opportunity.