I had judged her rightly, and my tone of flippant recklessness won me her sympathy and aid. Quickly thrusting her head through the other window:
“Drive on, Louis,” she commanded. “Faster!” Then turning to me, “You may bring your legs into the coach if you choose, sir,” she said.
“Your words, Madame, are the sweetest music I have heard for months,” I answered drily, as I obeyed her. Then leaning out of the carriage again I waved my hat gallantly to the mob which—now realising the futility of further pursuit—had suddenly come to a halt.
“Au plaisir de vous revoir, Messieurs,” I shouted. “Come to me one by one, and I'll keep the devil busy finding lodgings for you.”
They answered me with a yell, and I sat down content, and laughed.
“You are not a coward, Monsieur,” said the dark lady.
“I have been accounted many unsavoury things, Madame, but my bitterest enemies never dubbed me that.”
“Why, then, did you run away?”
“Why? Ma foi! because in the excessive humility of my soul I recognised myself unfit to die.”
She bit her lip and her tiny foot beat impatiently upon the floor.