My hand was hard on the knife hilt within my doublet, yet I drew it not as we stood there eye to eye.

There was that between us--the dim, shadowy face of a woman--which held me as by a chain.

It seemed to me then as if my knife point would have to pass through her before it touched his heart, and, feeling thus, God gave me power to choke back the hot resentment, and restrain my hand.
"Monsieur," I said sternly, "never has the hand of man touched me before in anger without my making full return for the blow.

Yet now I strike you not.

The time may come when I shall wipe out this insult, but here and now you stand safe from my arm." "Safe!" he sneered.