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.

"Then," he rejoined harshly, "you are a very strange woman, Mademoiselle
Stephanie."

"I begin to think I am," she said, with a rather piteous smile. "Yet,
for all that, I will not be trifled with either. A compact such as ours
can only be cancelled by mutual consent. I think you are rather inclined
to forget that."

"Meaning?" said Pierre abruptly.

She drew a sharp breath. Her heart was beating very fast.

"Meaning," she said, "meaning that I do not--and I will not--agree to
your proposal; that if I accept my freedom from you, it will be because
you force me to do so, and I will take nothing else--do you
hear?--nothing else, either as a gift or as a bequest. You may compel me
to accept my freedom--against my will; but nothing else, I swear--I
swear!"

Her voice broke suddenly. She pressed her hands against her throat,
striving to control her agitation. But she might as well have striven to
contend with the previous night's storm; for it shook her, from head to
foot it shook her, as a tree is shaken by the tempest.

As for Pierre, before her words were fairly uttered he had leapt to his
feet. His hands were clenched. He looked almost as if he would strike
her.

"What do you mean?" he thundered.

She could not answer, but still she did not flinch. She only threw out
her hands and set them against his breast, holding him from her. Whether
or not her eyes spoke for her she never knew, but he became suddenly
rigid at her touch, standing motionless, waiting for her with a patience
she found well-nigh incredible.

"Tell me," he said at last, and in his voice restraint and passion were
strangely mingled, "what is it you are trying to make me understand? In
Heaven's name don't be afraid!"

"I am not," she whispered back breathlessly, "believe me, I am not. But,
oh, Pierre, it's so hard for a woman to tell a man what is in her heart
when--when she doesn't even know that he cares to hear."

"Stepha