Then suddenly it stood still. He was speaking.
"Mademoiselle Stephanie," he said, "I beg you will not agitate yourself.
You have no cause for agitation. It is not by my own wish that I intrude
upon you. I have no choice."
It was curtly uttered. It sounded rigidly uncompromising. Yet, for some
reason wholly inexplicable to herself, she was conscious of relief. She
opened her eyes, though she did not dare to raise them.
"How is that, monsieur?" she said faintly.
He was silent for a moment; then:
"There is no woman on board besides yourself," he told her briefly.
"Your own people deserted you. I had no time to search for others."
She felt as if his eyes were drawing her own. Against her will she
looked up and met them. They told her nothing, but at least they did not
frighten her afresh.
"Where are you going to take me?" she asked.
"We will speak of that later," he said. "Will you drink this now? You
need it."
"What is it, monsieur?"
For an instant she saw his faint, hard smile.
"It is broth, mademoiselle, nothing more."
"Nothing?" she said, still hesitating. "You--I think you gave me a
narcotic before!"
"I did," said Pierre. "And it did you good."
She did not attempt to contradict him. The repression of his manner held
her silent. Without further demur she sought to raise herself.
But her head swam the moment she lifted it from the pillow, and she sank
down again with closed eyes and drawn brows.
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