But if it were so, she must still put up with it.
She must still put up with it! She had sent for him, and he was coming--he was at the door! He entered, and she breathed more freely.

For once his face lacked the sneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know and hate.

It was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark, akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of the rider who had summoned him.

But the offensive look was gone, and she could breathe.
He closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room.
"At your pleasure, Mademoiselle ?" he said simply.

"You sent for me, I think." She was on her feet, standing before him with something of the submissiveness of Roxana before her conqueror.
"I did," she said; and stopped at that, her hand to her side as if she could not continue.