He saw that Marius had disappeared, and that mademoiselle had risen and was regarding him with singularly imploring eyes.
He bit his lip in mortified chagrin.

He cursed himself inwardly for a fool and a dolt--the more pitiable because he accounted himself cunning above others.

Had he but kept his temper, had he done no more than maintain the happy pretence that he was a slave to the orders he had received--a mere machine--he might have gained his ends by sheer audacity.

At least, his way of retreat would have remained open, and he might have gone, to return another day with force at his heels.
As it was, that pretty whelp, her son, had been sent, no doubt, for men.
He stepped up to Valerie.
"Are you ready, mademoiselle ?" said he; for little hope though he might still have of winning through, yet he must do the best to repair the damage that was of his making.
She saw that the storm of passion had passed, and she was infected by the sudden, desperate daring that prompted that question of his.
"I am ready, monsieur," said she, and her boyish voice had an intrepid ring.

"I will come with you as I am." "Then, in God's name, let us be going." They moved together towards the door, with never another glance for the Dowager where she stood, patting the head of the hound that had risen and come to stand beside her.