Her uncle smiled.

“Possibly not, but it is part of the bargain.  You can’t marry the man without seeing him.  He will come and call upon you this afternoon, and, no doubt, will bring you a ring.  I trust to your honor not to show so plainly your dislike that no man could carry through his side.  Please remember your brother’s welfare depends upon your actual marriage.  If you cause Lord Tancred to break off the match the bargain between you and me is void.”

The black panther’s look again appeared in her eyes, and an icy stillness settled upon her.  But she began to speak rather fast, with a catch in the breath between the sentences.

“Then, since you wish this so much for your own ends, which I cannot guess, I tell you, arrange for me to go to Paris, alone, away from him, until the wedding day.  He must hate the thought as much as I do.  We are probably both only marionettes in your hands.  Explain to the man that I will not go through the degradation of the pretence of an engagement, especially here in this England, where, Maman said, they parade affections, and fiances are lovers. Mon Dieu! I will play my part—­for the visits of ceremony to his family, which I suppose must take place even here—­but beyond that, after to-day, I will not see him alone nor have any communication with him.  Is it understood?”

Francis Markrute looked at her with growing admiration.  She was gorgeously attractive in this mood.  He obtained endless pleasure out of life by his habit of abstract observation.  He was able to watch people in the throes of emotion, like a master seeing his hunters being put through their paces.

“It shall be understood,” he said.  He knew it was wiser to insist upon no more; her temper would never brook it.  He knew he could count upon her honor and her pride to fulfill her part of the bargain if she were not exasperated beyond bearing.

“I will explain everything to Lord Tancred at luncheon,” he said, “that you will receive him this afternoon, and that then you are going to Paris, and will not return until the wedding.  You will concede the family interviews that are absolutely necessary, I suppose?”

“I have already said so; only let them be few and short.”

“Then I will not detain you longer now.  You are a beautiful woman, Zara,” Francis Markrute said, as he rose and kissed her hand.  “None of the royal ladies, your ancestresses, ever looked more like a queen.”  And he bowed himself out of the room, leaving her in her silence.

When she was alone she clenched her hands and walked up and down for a few moments, and her whole serpentine body writhed with passionate anger and pain.

Yes, she was a beautiful woman, and had a right to her life and joys like another—­and now she was to be tied, and bound again to a husband!

"Les Infames!" she hissed aloud.  “But for that part, I will not bear it!  Until the wedding I will dissemble as best I can—­but afterwards—!”