“To preserve secrecy on what I have told you for his sake; and to give him a message from me.”
Cigarette laughed scornfully; she was furious with herself for standing obediently like a chidden child to hear this patrician's bidding, and to do her will. And yet, try how she would, she could not shake off the spell under which those grave, sweet, lustrous eyes of command held her.
“Pardieu, Milady! Do you think I babble like any young drunk with his first measure of wine? As for your message, you had better let him come and hear what you have to say; I cannot promise to remember it!”
“Your answer is reckless; I want a serious one. You spoke like a brave and a just friend to him to-day; are you willing to act as such to-night? You have come here strangely, rudely, without pretext or apology; but I think better of you than you would allow me to do, if I judged only from the surface. I believe that you have loyalty, as I know that you have courage.”
Cigarette set her teeth hard.
“What of that?”
“This of it. That one who has them will never cherish malice unjustifiably, or fail to fulfill a trust.”
Cigarette's clear, brown skin grew very red.
“That is true,” she muttered reluctantly. Her better nature was growing uppermost, though she strove hard to keep the evil one predominant.
“Then you will cease to feel hatred toward me for so senseless a reason as that I belong to an aristocracy that offends you; and you will remain silent on what I tell you concerning the one whom you know as Louis Victor?”