"And if I refuse?" she questioned, her voice very low.
"You will not refuse," he returned, with conviction. "You dare not
refuse."
She stood silent.
"And that being so," said Pierre, with a certain doggedness peculiarly
at variance with his fierce and headlong nature, "that being so,
Mademoiselle Stephanie, would it not be wiser for you to yield at once?"
"To yield, monsieur?"
Her eyes sought his for the fraction of a second. He was still closely
watching her.
"To give me your promise," he said. "It is all I shall ask of you. I
shall be satisfied with that."
"And what have you to offer in exchange?" she said.
A strange expression, that was almost a smile, flitted over his hard
face.
"I will give you my friendship," he said, "no more, no less."
But still she hesitated, till suddenly, with a gesture wholly arrogant,
he held out his hand.
"Trust me," he said, "and I will be trustworthy."
She knew it for a definite promise, however insolently expressed. It was
plain that he meant what he said. It was plain that he desired to win
her confidence. And in a measure she was reassured. His actions
testified to a patience of which she had not deemed him capable.
Slowly, in unconscious submission to his will, she laid her hand in his.
"And afterwards, monsieur?" she said. "Shall I be able to trust you
then?"
He leaned slightly towards her, looking more closely into her face.
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