“You had better not be curious about Count Zarka,” and as she spoke the name she lowered her tone almost to a whisper. “He is a dangerous man and, I fear, unscrupulous. You will only bring harm on yourself by seeking to know too much of him.”
The feeling of terror with which Zarka had evidently inspired her roused the young soldier’s indignation.
“I am not afraid of Count Zarka,” he returned boldly, “and I hope I never shall be. You may trust me, Fräulein, to take care of myself—and you,” he added tenderly, “if you will let me.”
She coloured a little. “I am sure I could trust you,” she said softly. “But I hope,” she added with more vivacity, “there will be no need for me to enlist you as my defender.”
“Not even against Count Zarka?” he asked searchingly.
She met his eyes unfalteringly now. “Not even against him.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said slowly, “for I had an uncomfortable idea in my head.”
“Pray what was that?” She seemed quite to have regained command over herself.
“I have of course,” he replied, “as a comparative stranger no right to interfere or show curiosity in the matter. Still, I could not help fancying that the Count persecuted you. Am I right or wrong?”
For a moment she looked serious, then she smiled.