“You seek what others dread then?”
“It may be so. At any rate, if you would serve me, madame, never say what can bring me into notice.”
She regarded him with much surprise, with some slight sense of annoyance; she had bent far in tendering her influence at the French court to a private soldier, and his rejection of it seemed as ungracious as it was inexplicable.
At that moment the Moor joined them.
“Milady has told me, M. Victor, that you are a first-rate carver of ivories. How is it that you have never let me benefit by your art?”
“My things are not worth a sou,” muttered Cecil hurriedly.
“You do them great injustice, and yourself also,” said the grande dame, more coldly than she had before spoken. “Your carvings are singularly perfect, and should bring you considerable returns.”
“Why have you never shown them to me at least?” pursued Ben Arsli—“why not have given me my option?”
The blood flushed Cecil's face again; he turned to the Princess.
“I withheld them, madame, not because he would have underpriced, but overpriced them. He rates a trifling act of mine, of long ago, so unduly.”