"Yes, and she might prefer to die."
Haganè sent a curious, cold look to search the young man's thought. "Do Christians dare—to die?"
The acid scorn bit deep. "Yes," raved Pierre. "And they dare to live, and, sometimes, they dare to slay! I do not consent, remember. I believe it yet to be a trick, a mockery. If I find it so, I swear in the name of that Christian God whom you blaspheme—if I find that you are holding out the one bribe that you know I would sell my soul to the devil for—thinking to gloat over the new deviltry of snatching it away—I'll—I'll—" He broke off, mouthing for words that would not come.
His hand unconsciously fingered the cold surface of the pistol. Again Haganè looked bored, and made a gesture of distaste.
"Don't sneer like that, you toad of hell!" shrieked his companion. "You think this bluster,—but I mean it. I mean it terribly!" A sudden sound in the outer hall cut short the threat. Footsteps, in stockinged feet, or in the Japanese tabi, came swiftly. Both men by instinct fixed eyes upon the door.
Yuki walked straight to her husband and stood still. Their eyes met. "I thank the Gods that you are safe," she said aloud. Her glance moved quickly to Pierre, surprising on his face a hurt, incredulous expression.
"Monsieur, be comforted. It is for the country, not for me," mocked Haganè.
"And now, Madame," he said, with bloodshot eyes on Yuki, "have you explanation for this new act of disobedience, of affront to my dignity?"
Yuki did not hasten to reply. Whether the power had grown from without or within that childish form, a new strength was now hers. She had the look of one who, after long wandering in a dangerous forest, has spied a path.
The gray robe, hastily caught back to decorous lines, showed traces of rough handling. Over her head she had thrown a light wrap called a dzukin. It hid her forehead with a nun-like band, was crossed under the chin, and knotted loosely behind the head. Not a strand of hair emerged. Her face, in the dull silver setting, gleamed like a long white pearl.