"
"Oh, you deem it very polite and gentle to jab me with your sword,
do you? If I had one in my hand you would not dare try such a
thing, and you know it very well."
He was amazed, not knowing that the sword-point had touched her.
He could not see her face, but there was a flash in her voice that
startled him with its indignant contempt and resentment.
"What are you saying, Miss Roussillon? I don't understand you.
When did I ever--when did I jab you with my sword? I never thought
of such a thing."
"This moment, sir, you did, and you know you did. My arm is
bleeding now."
She spoke rapidly in French; but he caught her meaning, and for
the first became aware of the rapier in his hand. Even then its
point was toward her and very near her breast. He lowered it
instantly while the truth rushed into his mind.
"Forgive me," he murmured, his words barely audible in the tumult
of wind and rain, but charged with the intensest feeling.
"Forgive me; I did not know--it was an accident--I could not do
such a thing purposely. Believe me, believe me, Miss Roussillon. I
did not mean it."
She stood facing him, trying to look right into his eyes. A
quality in his voice had checked her hot anger. She could only see
his dim outlines in the dull gleam from the fort's lantern. He
seemed to be forlornly wretched.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277