The fear that as she listened to his gibing tones had driven the colour from her face, had hardened it too.
For, if he were right?
If for that fear there were foundation?
If that which the Syndic had led her to give and that which she had given, proved--though for a few hours it had seemed to impart marvellous vigour--useless or worse than useless?
Then the need to keep these men from her mother was the greater, the more desperate.

How they could be kept, for how long it was possible to keep them, she did not pause to consider, any more than the she-wolf that crouches, snarling, between her whelps and the hunt, counts odds.

It was enough for her that if they were right the worst had come, and naught lay between her mother's weakness and their cruel eyes and judgments but her own feeble strength.
Or no! she was wrong in that; she had forgotten! As she spoke, and as Basterga with a scowl repeated the order to stand aside, Claude put her gently but irresistibly by, and took her place.

The young man's eyes were bright, his colour high.

"You will not go up!" he said, a mocking note of challenge, replying to Basterga's tone, in his voice.