“You will not be surprised if a slandered woman desires, with a woman’s obstinacy, to obtain a public reparation for the insults offered to her, in presence of those who witnessed them. I shall go to your ball. I ask you to give me your protection from the moment I enter the room until I leave it. I ask nothing more than a promise,” she added, as he laid his hand on his heart. “I abhor oaths; they are too like precautions. Tell me only that you engage to protect my person from all dangers, criminal or shameful. Promise to repair the wrong you did me, by openly acknowledging that I am the daughter of the Duc de Verneuil; but say nothing of the trials I have borne in being illegitimate,--this will pay your debt to me. Ha! two hours’ attendance on a woman in a ball-room is not so dear a ransom for your life, is it? You are not worth a ducat more.” Her smile took the insult from her words. “What do you ask for the gun?” said the count, laughing. “Oh! more than I do for you.” “What is it?” “Secrecy. Believe me, my dear count, a woman is never fathomed except by a woman. I am certain that if you say one word of this, I shall be murdered on my way to that ball. Yesterday I had warning enough. Yes, that woman is quick to act. Ah! I implore you,” she said, “contrive that no harm shall come to me at the ball.” “You will be there under my protection,” said the count, proudly. “But,” he added, with a doubtful air, “are you coming for the sake of Montauran?” “You wish to know more than I know myself,” she answered, laughing. “Now go,” she added, after a pause. “I will take you to the gate of the town myself, for this seems to me a cannibal warfare.” “Then you do feel some interest in me?” exclaimed the count. “Ah! mademoiselle, permit me to hope that you will not be insensible to my friendship--for that sentiment must content me, must it not?” he added with a conceited air. “Ah! diviner!” she said, putting on the gay expression a woman assumes when she makes an avowal which compromises neither her dignity nor her secret sentiments. Then, having slipped on a pelisse, she accompanied him as far as the Nid-aux-Crocs. When they reached the end of the path she said, “Monsieur, be absolutely silent on all this; even to the marquis”; and she laid her finger on both lips. The count, emboldened by so much kindness, took her hand; she let him do so as though it were a great favor, and he kissed it tenderly. “Oh! mademoiselle,” he cried, on knowing himself beyond all danger, “rely on me for life, for death. Though I owe you a gratitude equal to that I owe my mother, it will be very difficult to restrain my feelings to mere respect.”