out the eyes. They
were deeply shadowed, and looked as if they had watched--or wept--for
many hours.

Dumaresq bowed in the brief English fashion, instantly straightening
himself with a squaring of his broad shoulders that were already so
immensely square that they made his height seem inconsiderable.

She gravely inclined her head in response. She did not invite him to sit
down, and he remained where he was, with his fierce eyes unwaveringly
upon her.

In the middle of the room, full three yards from him, she paused, and
deliberately met his scrutiny.

"You wished to see me, Monsieur Dumaresq?" she said in English.

"Yes," said Dumaresq. He turned, and laid the foil back upon the
mantelpiece behind him; then calmly crossed the intervening space, and
stood before her. "I am grateful to you for granting me an interview,
mademoiselle," he said. "I am aware that you have done so against your
will."

There was something of a challenge in the words, but she did not seem to
hear it. She made answer in a slow, quiet voice that held neither
antagonism nor friendliness.

"I supposed that you had some suggestion to make, monsieur, which it was
my duty to hear."

"I see," said Dumaresq, still narrowly observing her. "Well, you are
right. I have a suggestion to make, one which I beg, for your own sake,
that you will cordially consider."

Before the almost brutal directness of his look her own eyes slowly
sank. A very faint tinge of colour crept over her pallor, but she made
no signs of flinching.

"What is your suggestion, monsieur?" she quietly asked him.

He did not instantly reply. Perhaps he had not altogether expected the
calm question. She showed no impatience, but she would not again meet
his eyes. In silence she waited.

At length abruptly he began to speak.

"Have you," he asked, "given any thought to your position here? Have you
made any plans for yourself in the event of a rising?"

Her eyelids quivered a little, but she did not raise them.

"I do not think," she said, her voice very low, "that the time has yet
come for making plans."

Dumaresq threw back his head with a movement that seemed to indicate
either impatience or surprise.

"You are living on the edge of a volcano," he told her, with grim force;
"and at any moment you may be overwhelmed. Have you never faced that
yet? Haven't you yet begun to realise that Maritas is a hotbed of
scoundrels--the very scum and rabble of creation--blackguard