"Wait! Hear me." She paused, half-turned, and looked at him over her shoulder, scorn in her glance, a sneer on her scarlet mouth, insolence in every line of her.
"I think, monsieur, that I have heard a little more than enough," said she.

"I am assured, at least, that in you I have but a fair-weather friend, a poor lipserver." "Ah, not that, madame," he cried, and his voice was stricken.

"Say not that.

I would serve you as would none other in all this world--you know it, Marquise; you know it." She faced about, and confronted him, her smile a trifle broader, as if amusement were now blending with her scorn.
"It is easy to protest.

Easy to say, 'I will die for you,' so long as the need for such a sacrifice be remote.