She sprang back. "Oh, do not!" she cried. "Oh, do not!" And, dropping
the dagger, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into weeping.
He stooped coolly, and, after groping some time for the poniard, drew it
from the leaves among which it had fallen. He put it into the sheath,
and not until he had done that did he speak. Then it was with a sneer.
"I have no need to fear overmuch," he said. "You are a poor hater,
Madame. And poor haters make poor lovers. 'Tis his loss! If you will
not strike a blow for him, there is but one thing left. Go, dream of
him!"
And, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he turned on his heel.