The wondrous promise swept her fancy for the moment on the strong current of its imagery, as a river sweeps a leaf. This empire hers?—hers?—when all mankind had driven and derided her, and shunned her sight and touch, and cursed and flouted her, and barely thought her worthy to be called "thou dog!"
He looked at her and smiled, and bent towards the warmth of the fire.
"All that I say you shall be; and—the year is all winter for the poor, Folle-Farine."
The light on her face faded; a sudden apprehension tightened at her heart; on her face gathered the old fierce deadly antagonism which constant insult and attack had taught her to assume on the first instant of menace as her only buckler.
She knew not what evil threatened; but vaguely she felt that treason was close about her.
"If you do not mock me," she said slowly, "if you do not—how will you make me what you promise?"
"I will show the world to you, you to the world; your beauty will do the rest."
The darkness and the perplexed trouble deepened on her face; she rose and stood and looked at him, her teeth shut together with a quick sharp ring, her straight proud brows drew together in stormy silence; all the tigress in her was awoke and rising ready to spring; yet amid that dusky passion, that withering scorn of doubt, there was an innocent pathetic wonder, a vague desolation and disappointment, that were childlike and infinitely sad.
"This is a wondrous pear you offer me!" she said, bitterly. "And so cheap?—it must be rotten somewhere."
"It is golden. Who need ask more?"