Now the man Mark was a person of intelligence and discretion. He needed the woman’s friendship for diplomatic reasons snared up in his own long skull, and since such partisanship could be won by a look and a word, he soon had Malmain very much at his service. Shrewd and cunning wench that she was in the course of nature, she was somewhat easily fooled by the man’s suave impudence. She haunted Mark like a shadow when off her duty,—a very substantial shadow, be it noted,—and made it extravagantly plain that she was blessed after all with some of the sentiments of a woman.
One evening, being in the mood, she caught him in a bye-passage as he came off guard. He was in armour, and carried a spear slanted over his shoulder. His burnished casque seemed to give a fine setting to his strong, sallow face.
Malmain, generous creature, filled the passage like a gate. Her face matched her scarlet smock, and she was grinning like some grotesque head from the antique. Mark came to a halt, and leaning on his spear, looked at her in the most bland manner possible. He did not trust women overmuch, and he mistrusted Malmain in particular. Moreover, she smacked of the wine-cask.
The woman edged close, and shook a fist in his face with a certain bluff enthusiasm.
“A bargain! a bargain!”
The passage was open to the west, and a glare of sunlight shimmered into Mark’s eyes. He could only see the woman as a great blur, a mass of trailing hair, a loose, exuberant smock haloed with gold.
“Ha! my cherub, you seem in fettle.”
The fist still flickered in his face.
“A bargain! a bargain!”
“Mother of mercy! you are in such a devil of a hurry.”