"You are not wise, Mademoiselle Stephanie," he said.
She answered him in a voice that quivered, in spite of her obvious
effort to control it.
"Nor am I altogether a fool, monsieur. Your sympathies are well known.
The revolutionists have looked to you to lead them as long as I have
known Maritas."
"That may be, mademoiselle," he sternly responded. "But it is possible,
is it not, that they may look in vain?"
Again swiftly her glance flashed upwards.
"Is it possible?" she breathed.
He did not deign to answer.
"I have not come to discuss my position," he said curtly, "but yours.
What are you going to do, mademoiselle? How do you propose to escape?"
She was white now, white to the lips; but she did not shrink.
"I beg that you will not concern yourself on my account," she said
proudly. "I shall no doubt find a means of escape if I need it."
"Where, mademoiselle?" There was something dogged in the man's voice,
his eyes were relentless in their determination. "Are you intending to
look to your stepfather for protection?"
Again, involuntarily almost, she raised her eyes, but they held no fear.
"No, monsieur," she responded coldly. "I shall find a better way than
that."
"How, mademoiselle?"
The brief question sounded like a threat. She stiffened as she heard it,
and stood silent.
"How, mademoiselle?" he said again.
She made a slight gesture of protest.
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