Lorry. You may shoot me a
thousand times, but I implore you to deal gently with my unhappy
friend. He has done no wrong. The clothes you see upon that trembling
figure are torturing the poor heart more than you can know. The burning
flush upon that cheek is the red of modesty. Your highness and
gentlemen, I ask you to have pity on this gentle friend of mine." He
threw his arm about the shoulder of the slight figure as it drooped
against him. "Count Marlanx was right. It was a woman he saw with me in
the chapel last night."
The sensation created by this simple statement was staggering. The
flushed face was unmistakably that of a young girl, a tender, modest
thing that shrank before the eyes of a grim audience. Womanly instinct
impelled Yetive to shield the timid masquerader. Her strange association
with Baldos was not of enough consequence in the eyes of this tender
ruler to check the impulse of gentleness that swept over her. That the
girl was guiltless of any wrong-doing was plain to be seen. Her eyes,
her face, her trembling figure furnished proof conclusive. The dark
looks of the men were softened when the arm of the princess went about
the stranger and drew her close.
"Bah! Some wanton or other!" sneered Marlanx. "But a pretty one, by the
gods. Baldos has always shown his good taste,"
Baldos glared at him like a tiger restrained.
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