But he had humour too, and, with the taste of the warm red drop in his mouth still, his tongue touched his lips swiftly, and one hand grasping the arm of the chair, and the fingers of the other dropping on the back of her hand lightly, he said in a quaint, ironical tone: "'Dead for a ducat!'" When he saw the look of horror in her face, his eyes lifted almost gaily to hers, as he continued: "A little brandy, if you can get it, mademoiselle." "Yes, yes.

I'll get some for you--some whiskey!" she said, with frightened, terribly eager eyes.
"Alcide always has some.

Don't stir.

Sit just where you are." She ran out of the room swiftly--a light-footed, warm-spirited, dramatic little thing, set off so garishly in the bodice with the plush trimming; but she had a big heart, and the man knew it.

It was the big-heartedness which was the touch of the man in her that made her companionable to him.
He said to himself when she left him: "What cursed luck!" And after a pause, he added: "Good-hearted little body, how sorry she looked!" Then he settled back in his chair, his eyes fixed upon her as she entered the room, eager, pale and solicitous.