As he went on, Coralie seemed to shrink into herself and to place a greater distance between them, as though she did not wish him to penetrate those secret regions of which he spoke.
“No,” she murmured, “you are mistaken. My life is quite simple. I do not need to be defended.”
“You do not need to be defended!” he cried, with increasing animation. “What about those men who tried to kidnap you? That plot hatched against you? That plot which your assailants are so afraid to see discovered that they go to the length of killing the one who allowed himself to be caught? Is that nothing? Is it mere delusion on my part when I say that you are surrounded by dangers, that you have enemies who stick at nothing, that you have to be defended against their attempts and that, if you decline the offer of my assistance, I . . . Well, I . . . ?”
She persisted in her silence, showed herself more and more distant, almost hostile. The officer struck the marble mantelpiece with his fist, and, bending over her, finished his sentence in a determined tone:
“Well, if you decline the offer of my assistance, I shall force it on you.”
She shook her head.
“I shall force it on you,” he repeated, firmly. “It is my duty and my right.”
“No,” she said, in an undertone.
“My absolute right,” said Captain Belval, “for a reason which outweighs all the others and makes it unnecessary for me even to consult you.”
“What do you mean?”