And they worship me."
"Desiree!" cried Harry in astonishment; and I was myself a little
startled.
"Why not?" she demanded. "They are men. And besides, it is
impossible for us to return. With all your cleverness, M. Paul,
can you find the sunlight? To remain is a necessity; we must make
the best of it; and I repeat that I am satisfied."
"That's bally rot," said Harry, turning on her hotly. "Satisfied?
You are nothing of the sort. I'll tell you one thing--Paul and I
are going to find our way out of this, and you are coming with
us."
For reply Desiree laughed at him--a laugh that plainly said, "I
am my own mind, and obey no other." It is one of the most
familiar cards of the woman of beauty, and the most effective. It
conquered Harry.
He gazed at her for a long moment in silence, while his eyes
filled with an expression which one man should never show to
another man. It is the betrayal of the masculine sex and the
triumph of the feminine.
Suddenly he threw himself on his knees before her and took her
hands in his own. She attempted to withdraw them; he clasped her
about the waist.
"Do you not love me, Desiree?" he cried, and his lips sought
hers.
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