But he came quickly between me and the door, and—"Mon Dieu!" he cried, "'t is the pretty boy of yesterday!"
"You grow in mystery, M. de Rondiniacque," I said. "Prithee, let me pass!"
"Nay, nay," he answered, "this loftiness shall not bugbear me, pretty one. Thou dost know thy way to a camp and out again as well as another. Faith, I did ponder wherefore those bright eyes did draw me so."
"If you continue these matters with me, sir, I must leave you," I cried, and so made attempt to pass him.
But he seized me gently by the arm. "You shall not so," he exclaimed. "Nay, do not fear I will hurt you. I do not handle a woman as I grasped that ruffling youth. How fare the pretty wrists?"
My anger here prevailing over my prudence, I declared roundly that I would take these injuries to those that should exact account of them. Whereupon he seized me very firmly by the hand, so that I could not withdraw it.
"And tell them, too," he said, "of last night's masquerade. I will not be denied. Your secret is safe with me. Do I not know? Have I not many such in keeping? But none, I swear, for so lovely a partner in guilt. But it must be a bargain between us." And as I struggled to free my hand he wound his arm about my waist, holding me with a wonderful gentleness of strength. "Nay, do not fret," he went on, "I will not hurt you, and the bargain is soon struck. A tender glance of your eye will pay for much, as I doubt not you have been told before. Come, strife is folly with those that love us; and verily you are so beautiful that I love you already. What! still stubborn?"
"Loose me," I panted, now mad with rage and struggling.
"I vow," said he, "I am beside myself with love of you. Oh, why so easy but one day past, and now so proud?"
"I will call," said I, drawing breath for a loud cry.