He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. There was no longer any risk in association with her. I don’t think any surroundings could throw a shadow on you. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. En tout cas, I will not permit that you endanger yourself again for me. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. They had cried a little, both.
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