THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
owe me allegiance, my goods, my habits, my very life, are not mine, but another’s?”
A look of satisfaction crossed Captain Ferrers’s face. He relinquished her hand and arose.
“What nonsense is this, Barbara, to be bothering your pretty head about such a matter! Zounds, dear lady, it is the silliest thing imaginable!”
“Nay,” she said, with a gesture of annoyance and a woful look that was only half assumed—“nay, it is no nonsense or silliness. Should Monsieur Mornay come back, my quandary becomes as grievous as ever.”
Ferrers had been pacing up and down, his hands behind his back. “He will not come back. Besides, what could he prove?” He stopped before her.
She did not answer, but, trembling, waited for him to continue.
“Listen, Barbara. There has been something I have had in my mind to tell you. The Frenchman’s story has made some impression upon you.”
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