Under the hypnotic influence of this brutal and commanding man, she stammered forth the truth.
“You have guessed right. It was Corsini who told me, in a very brief interview. He had heard the rumour from a friend.”
Zouroff smiled. It was a very sinister smile at the best. The lips curled up, the strong, white, even teeth showed themselves, suggesting the fangs of a wolf.
“So this degenerate Italian is daring to thrust himself across our path, is he? Well, then! the Italian mountebank must disappear.”
Madame Quéro rose to her full height and braved the brutal and truculent Prince.
“I think I have got a word to say in this: If he does disappear, I shall go to the Emperor and tell him the whole truth.”
“You have fallen in love with this young man, eh?” inquired the Prince in a jeering voice.
“No, I will not say that. And besides, he is in love with somebody else. But understand me, if you please”—she spoke with her old imperiousness—“I will not have a hair of this young man’s head harmed. He is young, he is innocent; he shall not fall a victim to your dastardly schemes.”
Boris regarded her with his cold, hard glance. “Suppose I said that, in that case, even La Belle Quéro herself must disappear. What then?”
Tears came into the beautiful woman’s eyes. She looked at him, more compassionate than angry.