any man's? What was his hold
over her? What was his power? Was it possible, ah, was it possible that
she had done anything to give him power? Was it possible----

"Stand there!" Basterga repeated, licking his lips. He was in a cruel
temper: harassed himself, he would make some one suffer. "Remember who
you are, wench, and where you are! And answer me! How long have you
loved him?"

The face no longer burned: her blushes had sunk behind the mask of
apathy, the pallid mask, hiding terror and the shame of her sex, which
her face had worn before, which had become habitual to her. "I have not
loved him," she answered in a low voice.

"Louder!"

"I have not loved him."

"You do not love him?"

"No." She did not look at Claude, but dully, mechanically, she stared
straight before her.

Grio laughed boisterously. "A dose for young Hopeful!" he cried. "Ho!
Ho! How do you feel now, Master Jackanapes?"

The big man smiled.

"Galle, quid insanis? inquit, Tua cura Lycoris
Perque nives alium perque horrida castra secuta est!"

he murmured. He bowed ironically in Claude's direction. "The gentleman
passes beyond the jurisdiction of the court," he said. "She will have
none of him, it seems; nor we either! He is dismissed."

Claude, his eyes burning, shrugged his shoulders and did not budge. If
they thought to rid themselves of him by this fooling they would learn
their mistake. They wished him to go: the greater reason he should stay.
A little thing--the sight of a small brown hand twitching painfully,
while her face and all the rest of her was still and impassive, had
expelled his doubts for the time--had driven all but love and pity and
burning indignation from his breast. All but these, and the memory of
her lesson and her will. He had promised and he must suffer.

Whether Basterga was deceived by his inaction, or of set purpose was
minded to try how far they could go with him, the big man turned again
to his victim. "With you, my girl," he said, "it is otherwise. The soup
was bad, and you are mutinous. Two faults that must be paid for. There
was something of this, I remember, when Tissot--our good Tissot, who
amused us so much--first came. And we tamed you then. You paid forfeit,
I think. You kissed Tissot, I think; or Tissot kissed you."

"No, it was I kissed her," Gentilis said with a smirk. "She chose me."

"Under compulsion," Basterga retorted drily. "Will you ransom her
again?"

"Willingly! But it sho