"I wish you would tell your man to go," she said.
"Mademoiselle?" There was a note of surprise in the query.
"Tell him to go!" she reiterated, with nervous vehemence.
There fell an abrupt silence. Then she heard an imperious snap of the
fingers from Pierre, followed instantly by the steward's retiring
footsteps.
She waited till she heard them no longer, then slowly she turned. Pierre
had not moved from his chair. He was gripping the arms as before. She
stood with her back to the light, thankful for the dimness that obscured
her face.
"I--I have something to say to you, monsieur," she said.
"I am listening, mademoiselle," he responded briefly, not raising his
eyes.
"Ah, but you must help me," she said, and her voice shook a little.
"It--it is no easy thing that I have to say."
He made a fierce movement of unrest.
"How can I help you? I have given you your freedom. What more can I do?"
"You can spare me a moment's kindness," she answered gently. "You may be
angry with yourself, but you need not be angry with me also."
"I am not angry with you," he responded half sullenly. "But I can bear
no trifling, I warn you. I am not my own master. If you wish to secure
yourself from further insult, you will be wise to leave me alone."
"And if not?" she questioned slowly. "If--for instance--I do not feel
myself insulted by what happened last night?"
He glanced up at that so suddenly that she felt as if something pierced
her.
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