She studied him, and dreaded him, loathing his claim on her, longing to order him never to speak again to her, yet strangely interested in his future power for evil. The thought occurred to her that if she could learn his new schemes she might thwart them. That would be some atonement for what she had not prevented before. This inspiration brightened her so suddenly and gave such an eagerness to her manner that he saw the light and grew suspicious––a spy has to be, for he carries a weapon that has only one cartridge in it.
Marie Louise waited for him to explain his purpose till the suspense began to show; then she said, bluntly:
“What mischief are you up to now?”
“Mitschief––me?” he asked, all innocently.
“You said you wanted to see me.”
“I always want to see you. You interest––my eyes––my heart––”
“Please don’t.” She said it with the effect of slamming a door.
She looked him full in the eyes angrily, then remembered her curiosity. He saw her gaze waver with a double motive.
It is strange how people can fence with their glances, as if they were emanations from the eyes instead of mere reflections of light back and forth. But however it is managed, this man and this woman played their stares like two foils feeling for an opening. At length he surrendered and resolved to appeal: