I made no answer, and she glanced at me, the colour rising to her cheeks, and a smile on her lips, as she went on:
"'Tis a thousand pities, Monsieur le Chevalier, that you have taken the wrong side; and by rights I should strike that gong there and call my guards, for you are dangerous, they say; but," and she sank languorously down in the cushions, her pet now on her wrist, "'tis a warm day, and I feel bored. Do I not, Vert-Vert? Perhaps monsieur here will amuse me." And she stroked the feathers of the bird, and bending down kissed it.
"Madame," I began; but she glanced up, and stayed me with a laugh.
"What a voice! As severe as my dear De Mouchy's when he delivers a judgment; but, Chevalier, Leila, my Syrian maid, always tells me 'tis easier to sit than to stand, and there is room on these cushions—come!" And stretching out a shapely white arm she let it rest on the amber-hued silk of the cushions by her side.
As I gazed on the temptress lying at my feet the thought came to me to slay her in her sin; and perhaps she saw the sombre light in my eyes, and read my heart, for she drew her arm back swiftly, and half rose; but mastering myself I gave her her chance.
"Madame, I have come to beg your mercy——"
"You!" And she sank back again on her cushions.
"Yes, madame! I have come to ask for a life."
"Not yours, surely? It never was Orrain's way." And she smiled.
"Ay; it is my life ten times over, as well as another's; but you know whom I mean, madame! She is innocent, and a word from you will save her."