"You mean that you want me to allow you to travel here, mademoiselle?" I said, with a smile.
"Ah, m'sieur! If you would; if you only would! It would be an act of friendship that I would never forget."
She saw my hesitation, and I detected how anxious she became. Her gloved hands were trembling, and she seemed agitated and pale to the lips.
Again I scrutinised her. There was nothing of the spy or adventuress about her. On the contrary, she seemed a very charmingly modest young woman, for in continuation of her request she suggested that she could sit in the conductor's seat in the corridor.
"But surely that would be rather wearisome, mademoiselle?" I said.
"No, no, not at all. I must get to Paris at all costs. Ah, m'sieur! You will allow me to do as I ask, will you not? Do. I implore you."
I made no reply, for truth to tell, although I was not suspicious, I hesitated to allow the fair stranger to be my travelling companion. It was against my principle. Yet reading disinclination in my silence, she continued:
"Ah, m'sieur! If you only knew in what deadly peril I am! By granting this favour to me you can"—and she broke off short. "Well," she went on, "I may as well tell you the truth, m'sieur," and in her eyes there was a strange look that I had never seen in those of any woman before, "you can save my life."
"Your life!" I echoed, but at that moment the sleeping-car conductor, standing at the buffet-door, called:
"En voiture, m'sieur. The train is just starting."