Only they? Standing where she had leaped at the cavalier's kiss, her
eyes wide, her lips apart, was Maren Le Moyne. In the hurrying rush of
frantic people she had been forgotten and she was utterly helpless.
As in a dream she saw the leaping forms close in upon the two men who
fought for her, knew that those of De Seviere were pouring past her to
safety, heard the boom of the great gate as it swung into place, and
for her life she could move. neither hand nor foot. Her body stood
frozen as in those horrid dreams of night when one is conscious, yet
held, in a clutch of steel.
Over the heaving heads with their waving eagle feathers she saw the
head and shoulders of De Courtenay rise, tipped sidewise so that his
long curls swung clear, shining in the light, and already he was bound
with thongs of hide.
She saw his handsome face again sparkling with that smile that was so
brilliant and that bore such infinite shades of meaning.
Now it was full of devil-may-care, as if he shrugged his shoulders at a
loss at cards, and in that second it fell upon her standing in horror.
"Ah, Ma'amselle!" he called, across the surging feathers; "the tune
changes! But you have my heart, and I,--I have one kiss! Adieu, my Maid
of the Long Trail! The chance was worth its turning.
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