“Then Gustave made these—eh?”
“Yes. And see, he gave me this!” and she drew from her breast a small shining cylinder of brass, a beautifully-finished little object about four inches long. “He gave this to me to use—if necessary!” the girl added, a meaning flash in her dark eyes.
For a moment I was silent.
“Then you would have used it upon that Cossack?” I said slowly.
“That was my intention.”
“And kill yourself as well as your assailant?”
“I have promised him,” was her simple answer.
“And this Gustave? You love him? Tell me all about him. Remember, I am your friend, and will help you if I can.”
She hesitated, and I was compelled to urge her again and again ere she would speak.