She had risen from the sand, and now stood erect beside me. I saw Jordan grinning in great enjoyment of the scene, and that De Croix's eyes were full of anger; but I would not stir. In my heart I felt a dull pain at his words, a fear that they might prove too true; but I remained where I was, determined to take no step aside until she herself should judge between us. "Will you stand back, Monsieur?" he said, haughtily, dropping his hand upon the hilt of his rapier, "or shall I show you how a gentleman of France deals with such impertinence?" If he thought to affright me with his bravado, he reckoned ill of my nature, for I have ever driven badly; my blood seems slow to heat, though it was warm enough now. "If the lady wishes it, you may pass," I answered shortly, my eyes never leaving his face. "Otherwise, if you take so much as another step I will crush every bone in your body." He saw I meant it, but there was no cowardice in him; and the steel had already flashed in the sunlight to make good his threat, when she touched me gently upon the shoulder. "I beg you do not fight," she urged. "I am not worthy, and 'tis all unneeded. Captain de Croix," and she swept him a curtsey which had the grace of a drawing-room in it, "'tis indeed most strange that we should meet again in such a spot as this. No contrast could be greater than the memory of our last parting. Yet is there any cause for quarrel because this young gentleman has preserved my life?" De Croix hesitated, standing half-poised for attack, even his glib tongue and ready wit failing as she thus calmly questioned him. Indeed, as I later learned, there was that of witchery about this young girl which held him at bay more effectually than if she had been a princess of the royal blood,--a something that laughed his studied art to scorn. She noted now his hesitancy, and smiled slightly at the evidence of her power. "Well, Monsieur, 'tis not often that your lips fail of words," she continued, archly. "Why is it I am made the subject of your quarrel?" The slight sarcastic sting in her voice aroused him. "By all the saints, Toinette!" he exclaimed, striving to appear at his ease, "this seems a poor greeting for one who has followed you through leagues of forest and across oceans of sand, hopeful at the least to gain a smile of welcome from your lips. Know you not I am here, at the very end of the world, for you?" "I think it not altogether unlikely," she replied with calmness. "You have ever been of a nature to do strange things, yet it has always been of your own sweet will. Surely, Monsieur, I did never bid you come, or promise you a greeting." "No," he admitted regretfully, "'tis, alas, true"; and his eyes seemed to regain something of their old audacity. "But there was that about our parting,--you recall it, Toinette, in the shadow of the castle wall?--which did afford me hope. No one so fair as you can be without heart."