The Rat Trap
must forget—and well I know that! Let be! Tis past—past—and there's no time to be wasted, I'm thinking, if we are to outwit Georges this night."
"That—that is very true. Thank you, monsieur. You—you are—generous."
She came closer to him, her eyes upon his face. But he looked away from her, sinking his nails deep into his palms to help him remember his place, his duty. Indeed, the man was sorely tried to keep his arms from about the woman again. "Chambret!" he remembered. And that name he repeated, as though it were a talisman against a recurrence of that dear madness. "Beatrix!" he murmured, also, and grew more strong.
"Lead on, madame," he presently told her, his tone dogged.
She may have guessed from that what war waged itself in the bosom of O'Rourke. Her gaze grew very soft and tender as she regarded him. And abruptly she wheeled about upon her heel.
"Come, monsieur," she requested more calmly. "The night is young, but, as you say, there is much to be accomplished."
He followed her on into the fastnesses of the forest, where the night gathered black about them, and he could only guess his way by the glimmer of her white neckerchief flitting before him.
"Where now, madame?" he asked, after a great while; for it began to seem as though they were to walk on thus forever, and O'Rourke was growing weary.
"We are going to the hunting lodge of—of my son, the Grand Duke," she said. And her manner showed what constraint she put upon herself, told of what humiliation of spirit she was undergoing.
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