"Make no sound, as you value our lives."
As she whispered this, Van Dam swore mildly at the luck that prevented him from appraising his companion's good looks, now that her mask was off. From the courtyard below sounded voices. The girl clutched him nervously; her hand was shaking. He could feel her shiver, so he slipped an arm about her waist. He did this merely to steady her, he told himself. He reasoned further that such a familiarity could scarcely be offensive in the dark. As she yielded gratefully to his embrace, her soft body palpitating against his own, he ceased reasoning and drew her closer. It was very agreeable to discover that she made no resistance; he could not recollect any sensation quite like this! As yet he had done nothing improper, in view of the fact that it was every gentleman's bounden duty to succor beauty in distress. He wondered if his friends at the Grunewald had missed him, then realized with relief that Miss Banniman never allowed his presence or his absence to interfere in the slightest with her arrangements. They were probably finishing their drinks by now. This would make an entertaining story, later in the evening; they would never guess what he was doing.
"Who is that speaking?" he inquired.
"François, the Spider," whispered the girl. "Eh, God! How they all have come to hate you!"
Roly reasoned from these words that his enemies numbered more than one or two, and involuntarily he asked: "Hate me? What for?"
The girl trembled. "As if you did not know."
"And what would happen if they found me—us?" he persisted, feeling vaguely for some hint.
"Ah!" Her breath caught. "Hush!" She laid her fingers over the lips of his mask.
Van Dam yielded to an ungovernable impulse and kissed them through the stiff, harsh cloth, whereat she said in wonderment:
"Heaven guard us! You are actually laughing. That you are wild, I knew; but—you are—you act very strangely, m'sieu."