But I can not tell
you more than that--ever. And I know it is impossible for us to be
friends." She paused, one of her hands creeping to her bare
throat, as if to cover the throbbing he had seen there.
"Why is it impossible?" he demanded, leaning away from his pillows
so that he might bring himself nearer to her.
"Because--you are of the police, m'sieu."
"The police, yes," he said, his heart thrumming inside his breast.
"I am Sergeant Carrigan. I am out after Roger Audemard, a
murderer. But my commission has nothing to do with the daughter of
St. Pierre Boulain. Please--let's be friends--"
He held out his hand; and in that moment David Carrigan placed
another thing higher than duty--and in his eyes was the confession
of it, like the glow of a subdued fire. The girl's fingers drew
more closely at her throat, and she made no movement to accept his
hand.
"Friends," he repeated. "Friends--in spite of the police."
Slowly the girl's eyes had widened, as if she saw that new-born
thing riding over all other things in his swiftly beating heart.
And afraid of it, she drew a step away from him.
"I am not St. Pierre Boulain's daughter," she said, forcing the
words out one by one.
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