"Monsieur," she said, with stately deliberation, "I do
not--wholly--understand you. But it would be wasting your time and my
own to ask you to explain. As I said before, in the event of a crisis I
can secure my own safety."
"Nevertheless," said Pierre Dumaresq with a deliberation even greater
than her own, "I will explain, since a clear understanding seems to me
advisable. I am asking you to marry me, Mademoiselle Stephanie, in order
to ensure your safety. It is practically your only alternative now, and
it must be taken at once. I shall know how to protect my wife. Marry me,
and I will take you out of the city to my home on the other side of the
island. My yacht is there in readiness, and escape at any time would be
easy."
"Escape, monsieur!" Sharply she broke in upon him. Her coldness was all
gone in a sudden flame of indignation kindled by the sheer arrogance of
his bearing. "Escape from whom--from what?"
He was silent an instant, almost as if disconcerted. Then:
"Escape from your enemies, mademoiselle," he rejoined sternly. "Escape
from the mercy of the mob, which is all you can expect if you stay
here."
Her eyes flashed over him in a single, searing glance of the most utter,
the most splendid contempt. Then:
"You are more than kind, Monsieur Dumaresq," she said. "But your
suggestion does not recommend itself to me. In short, I should
prefer--the mercy of the mob.
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