Presently she heard on the stairs a footfall that she knew. The door opened and St. Just came in.
At the sight of her, he started and stood still. "Halima!" he exclaimed slowly, his surprise showing in his tone, "what brings you here?" The usual ring of welcome in his voice no longer sounded.
She noted its absence and, though not surprised, resented it. A sullen curtain veiled the brightness of her face; but only for an instant; then she became all smiles and sweetness. She had a part to play, and was an adept in all the wiliness of the Oriental.
"Fie, uncourteous man," she answered playfully, "to speak like that and look so cross; and just because his loving wife has come to see him, when he won't come to her. Oh! Henri, dear, I cannot bear this separation. And it is not right; husband and wife should not be parted. I have come to ask forgiveness for the trick I played you in Vienna; but I little guessed you would take it so to heart, or I would not have done it. Surely, by this time, you have forgiven me. Oh! Henri, let me come back to you!"
She paused and looked at him expectantly.
But he made no reply; only stood there immovable; and his face was full of trouble and indecision.
"What!" she resumed, "still unforgiving? Nay, Henri, I did not think it of you. But I will kiss you into acquiescence. I will lay my heart against your own, and you shall feel its throbs, and its mate within you shall leap to meet it, and I will soften you to pardon."
All this time St. Just was standing with his back towards the closet door, to which Halima's eyes had several times been furtively directed. Noiselessly and gradually this door was opening.
Halima's last words had hardly left her mouth—deceiver that she was—when she rushed at St. Just with her arms wide open, and threw them round his neck, drawing his face down to her own. "Kiss me, my Henri," she cooed in the note he knew so well; and, unconsciously, at the magic of her voice, his arms embraced her and he pressed his lips to hers.
The door behind St. Just was now wide open, and, stealthily, with the sinuous movements of a panther, the two men glided towards their unsuspecting victim. Then, when close to him, suddenly they threw themselves upon him, pinioning his arms so that he was helpless. At the same moment, Halima loosened her hold on him and freed herself from his embrace, standing away from him with a look of triumph on her face. In another instant, before he had realized what had happened, he was on his back and held in an iron grip by his assailants. They were powerful men, each far stronger than St. Just, so that he was like an infant in their hands. He saw the futility of resistance, and did not attempt it. But he turned on Halima such a look of sad reproach and grief as would have touched the heart even of a Lucretia Borgia. And it touched Halima's; still she did not falter in her purpose.