"To you, of course. Oh! not to me, Blue Eyes. Oh no! no!" she continued somewhat nervously, I thought. "Not to me. Oh no. Think not that, my lord."
"I can think what I like," I said. "Even a slave's thoughts are his own. But where's the danger, if you mean ordinary danger?"
"He is great," she almost whispered now, "and powerful, even in Paris. He is, too, enormously rich, richer than I am, and can hire people to do whatsoever he wishes. He might hire vagabonds to assault you—to—to—oh! Adrian!—throw you into the Seine with your throat cut, or stab you under the shoulder in a dark alley, and—and—all because you do this out of friendship for me, and with no hope of reward."
"Stab you under the shoulder in a dark alley."
"I shall get my reward," I said quietly.
For a moment she regarded me calmly; then she said, "You are very confident, very masterful."
"Yes," I replied, "very confident, and—well! very masterful."
CHAPTER II