Von Tressen smiled. “I hope there is no question of defiance, Count,” he replied coolly. “But if you mean to suggest that you expect me to be afraid of you, I must ask you to excuse me.”
“You are a bold fellow,” Zarka returned, with, at any rate, the semblance of coolness. “No man has ever yet successfully defied Aubray Zarka. If you think it worth while to try to be an exception do not blame me for the consequences. You do not know my power. I have warned you.”
“I am a soldier, Count,” Von Tressen rejoined simply, “and my profession admits fear of nothing but dishonour.”
“We shall see,” Zarka sneered, as he saluted and rode on.
He had, before riding after Von Tressen, spoken but a few hurried, darkly resentful words to Philippa, judging, perhaps, that it was hardly a favourable moment for making headway with his suit.
“Let me thank you, Fräulein,” he had said, “for coming my way instead of the Lieutenant’s. I hope you are not very tired?”
“I am rather,” she answered coldly.
“And yet,” he said significantly, “your walk was broken by a long rest, and doubtless a pleasant one.”
She looked up bravely at the dark face bent insinuatingly down to her.
“A long rest, Count?” she repeated, as though not comprehending.