That astounding glimpse did more for her than any mental effort. Quite
calmly she set to work to render her appearance more normal, and,
crippled though she was, she succeeded at length in attaining a fairly
satisfactory result. At least she did not think that a masculine eye
would detect anything amiss.
This achieved, she finally drew her travelling cloak about her and went
to the door. It resisted her effort to open, but in a moment she heard a
step on the other side and the withdrawal of a bolt.
Pierre opened the door for her, and stood back for her to pass. But she
remained on the threshold.
"Monsieur Dumaresq, why did you lock me in?" she asked him, with
something of her old stateliness of demeanour, which had made men deem
her proud.
His grey eyes comprehended her in a single glance. He made her his curt,
British bow.
"You were overwrought, Mademoiselle Stephanie," he said. "I was not sure
of your intentions. But I see that the precaution was unnecessary."
She understood him, and a faint flush rose in her pale face.
"Quite," she responded. "I have come to my senses, monsieur, and I know
how to value your protection. I shall not seek that means of escape so
long as you are safeguarding me."
She smiled with the words, a brave and steadfast smile, and extended her
hand to him.
The gesture was queenly, but the instant his fingers closed upon it she
quivered uncontrollably from head to foot.
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