Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
sion with the honest assertion, "I am glad," an expression of unholy joy had passed over the man's features. There was, of course, but one way of interpreting the woman's words to one who knew her heart and her purpose with O'Rourke.
So O'Rourke had made quick use of his five wits; they had stood him in good stead many a time in the past, nor did they fail him now. His words were prompted by the desire to stave off extermination until the last moment; delays would be dangerous—to Prince Viazma.
And, somehow, the man knew that he had touched the woman's heart, until then dormant, in this goddess of Egyptian night; he had beaten her fairly in argument; she had acknowledged the justness of his stand, and had congratulated him on his courage in abiding by it.
He felt, intuitively—and in dealing with woman, man must needs meet her with her own most effective weapon, both of offense and defense, intuition—that he might throw himself upon her generosity. Whether he had weakened her in her devotion to the Cause or not was a matter aside from the fact that her heart was softened toward him, that she would aid him.
So he had declared, "I am for mam'selle's cause!" Which was pure equivocation.
And the next instant, when he saw her look of supreme astonishment as she raised her head and glanced over his shoulder to the open doorway and to Monsieur the Diplomat, he bent toward her and whispered hurriedly:
"My life is in the hollow of your palm, mam'selle. Do with it as ye will. A word this way or that will save, or—destroy me."
In this Viazma saw nothing but such gallantry as he knew
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