“Holy Sister,” and his eyes looked beyond her towards the cell, “why do you shut your door so close of a May morning?”
His red eyes flashed down at her again, and Denise, with a fierce burning of the cheeks, felt that he was watching her, and that her secret might hang upon the tremor of a word.
“You are curious over trifles,” she said curtly. “I live alone here after my own fashion. What would you with all your dogs and men?”
Gaillard heeled his horse close to the gate. Count Peter, Etoile, and all their company watched and waited.
“Come nearer, Sanctissima,” said the Gascon, keeping his eyes fixed upon her face.
Denise did not stir.
“Come now, saint of the beech woods, put your pride aside, and let us talk together. And keep those eyes of yours from anger. It may be that I can give service for service.”
He spoke softly to her, almost suggestively, but Denise hated his smoothness more than his insolence.
“I do not understand you, messire,” she said.
Gaillard’s eyes grew keen and greedy.