TO THE VALE OF AVALON
Slowly the sense of something terrible and menacing was borne in on those who grouped themselves at the table. First there came a diminishing of the sounds that filled the place. They died away like a fading wind. Then the chill sweep of air from the door surged across the room, like a great fear congealing the blood. In the sloppy mess underfoot could be heard the sucking, splashing sound of feet moving, as men all about drew back instinctively and rapidly to be out of the way.
Solange felt what had happened rather than saw it. The fearful convulsion of fright, followed by maniac rage that leaped to Banker’s face told her as though he had shouted the news. His companions and allies were merely stupefied and startled.
With an impulse to cry out a warning or to rush to him and throw her body between De Launay and these enemies, she suddenly whirled about to face him. She saw him standing in the doorway, the night black behind him except where the light fell on untrodden snow. Dim and shadowy in the open air of the roadway were groups of figures. The yelping and snarling of dogs floated into the place 299 and she could see their wolfish figures between the legs of men and horses.
De Launay stood upright, hands outstretched at the level of his shoulders and resting against the sides of the doorway. He was open to and scornful of attack. His clean features were set sternly and his eyes looked levelly into the reeking interior, straight at Solange and the three men grouped behind her.
“Monsieur de Launay!” she cried. His eyes flickered over her and focused again on the men.
“Louisiana—at your service,” he answered, quietly.
In some wild desire to urge him back she choked out words.
“Why—why did you come?”
He did not answer her direct but raised his voice a little, though still without emotion.