“That means that you are rushing into danger?”
“The experiences of the last few days have made danger appear quite unexciting, madame—even monotonous.”
“Do you think I am a child, Count, that you try to put me off with such tales? You are not to go.”
“Your Majesty must know that it is my dearest duty to obey any wish of yours. Am I to consider myself under arrest?”
“Count!” she stamped her foot and burst into tears, “you are cruel, ungentlemanly! Is it generous to recall to me what I said last night? You will not make the slightest allowance for a woman who was half out of her mind with fatigue and the dangers of the day. How can you be so unjust?”
“Madame!” remonstrated Cyril, in alarm, “you mistake me. If I have given you cause to address such a reproach to me, I humbly entreat your pardon.”
“Now you are putting me in the wrong again,” she said, half-laughing through her tears. “Do not let us quarrel, Count. I do not command you to stay here, but I entreat you not to leave us to-day. Think of the fearful suspense we should endure—waiting hour after hour for your return. You don’t believe me,” catching the involuntarily sarcastic look upon his face. “Well, then, think of our horrible isolation; left here without you. What should we do if the enemy traced us to this spot? How could you answer to your conscience for abandoning us? Ah! you will believe that, I see. You will permit us to have some fear for ourselves, if we may not feel any anxiety for the safety of our friend, our leader. Mille remercîments, M. le comte! Come, you will not go? The charcoal-burner is going to church. He will make any inquiries with far less danger than you. You will remain here?”
“Little witch!” said Cyril to himself. “What does she mean by looking so distractingly pretty? I shall kiss her in another minute, and then there will be a nice row! I couldn’t very well plead that it was my other personality which had done it.” Aloud he answered formally, “Your commands shall be obeyed, madame. I am your servant.”
“You are not!” she cried. “Never say that again, Count. Do you think I am a stone, a block of wood—that I have no feelings, no gratitude? You are a dear and faithful friend to my son and myself, as you were to my husband; and if we ever return to—to everyday life, you shall see that I am not ungrateful. Come, I ask you as a friend not to leave us lonely here. You will not refuse?”
“You do me too much honour, madame. Naturally I will remain.”