“Do they mean to shoot us?” he asked, bluntly.
“Messieurs,” said the Countess, with a faint smile, “your whispers are no compliment to my race. Pray honor me by plain speaking. Are we to die?”
We stood absolutely speechless before her.
“Ah, Monsieur Scarlett,” she said, gravely, “do you also fail me ... at the end?... You, too—even you?... Must I tell you that we of Trécourt fear nothing in this world?”
She made a little gesture, exquisitely imperious.
I stepped toward her; she waited for me to seat myself beside her. 369
“Are we to die?” she asked.
“Yes, madame.”
“Thank you,” she said, softly.
I looked up. My head was swimming so that I could scarcely see her, scarcely perceive the deep, steady tenderness in her clear eyes.