"Remember what you suffered the first time!" I warned her.
"I do remember."
"Do you—do you dare risk that?" I stammered.
"Et d'avantage—encore," she murmured, setting her teeth on her plump white wrist and watching me uncertainly.
The game was running on too fast for me and my pulse was keeping pace.
"Safely they defy who challenge those in chains," I said, commanding my voice with an effort. "If that is your revenge, I cry you mercy; you have won."
After a long silence she raised her eyes, dancing with a mocking light in each starry pupil.
"I give you joy, Michael," she said, "if, as I take it, these same chains and fetters that you lately wear are riveted by Cupid."
But I answered nothing, attending her to the door, where she dropped me what I do believe was the slowest and lowest curtsey ever dropped by woman.
So I to my own chamber in no amiable frame of mind, and still tingling with the strange charm of my encounter. Head bent, hands clasped behind me, I walked the floor, striving to analyze this woman who had now twice crossed me on the trail of fate, this fair woman whose bright eyes were a menace and a challenge, and whose sweet, curved mouth was set there as eternal provocation to saint and sinner.