And after assuring herself that Grio had entered his room the girl returned to the table.
The Spaniard had spoken with brutal plainness; it was no longer possible to ignore what he had said, or to lie under any illusion as to the girl's knowledge of her peril.

Claude's eyes met hers: and for a moment the anguished human soul peered through the mask of constancy, for a moment the woman in her, shrinking from the ordeal and the fire, from shame and death, thrust aside the veil, and held out quivering, piteous hands to him.

But it was for a moment only.

Before he could speak she was brave as before, quiet as he had ever seen her, patient, mistress of herself.

"It is as you said," she muttered, smiling wanly, "the rats are leaving us." "Vermin!" he whispered.