"We're quits," she replied.
Her expression was grave and harmonized with her slightly austere features. Her's was one of those beautiful faces which are peculiarly disconcerting by reason of the contrasts which they present, being at once passionate and chaste, noble and sensuous, pensive and enticing.
Simon asked her, point blank:
"Was it you who came to my room yesterday, first in broad daylight and afterwards at night?"
She blushed, but admitted:
"Yes, it was I."
And, at a movement of Simon's, she added:
"I felt uneasy. People were being killed, in town and in the hotel. I had to watch over you, who had saved my life."
"I thank you," he said once more.
"Don't thank me. I have been doing things in spite of myself . . . these last two days. You seem to me so different from other men! . . . But I ought not to speak to you like this. Don't be vexed with me!"