THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
“By the right of a gentle birth. If not by that, by the right of a decent humanity.”
He laughed with an assumption of coarseness which sat strangely upon him.
“And have you no fear, Mistress Clerke? Does your instinct teach you no tremor?” He moved a pace nearer and glanced down upon her. “Do you not see, proud woman? Have you no trembling, no terror at the sight of me? Am I so gentle, so tractable, so ingenuous that you can defy me with impunity? You are in my power. There is no one to say me nay. What is there to prevent me doing with you as I will?”
She had not moved back from him the distance of a pace. And it was his eye that first fell before hers.
“You will doubtless do your will,” she said, evenly. “But I cannot find it in my heart to fear you, monsieur.” And the quietude of her reliance paled his mock brutality into a mere silly effusiveness.
“At the sight of you, monsieur,” she continued, “there is little room for fear in my breast. No, even if you should strike me down here upon
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