“But how, mam’selle? The men have guns, she has one and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it and the men she said would… come here… can… force us… mam’selle oh… I… I… am afraid-I… can’t bear to be tortured…“

“You mean you would… give in… let them have… their way?” gasped Marcia.

Marie shrugged her rounded shoulders, bare, white and lovely in their delectable contours, whose purity was enhanced piquantly by the touch of the fragile shoulder straps of her chemise.

“It… is better than death… or pain, mam’sefle,” she responded fatalistically.

“I won’t let them touch me… I’d kill myself first,” exclaimed the now thoroughly frightened Marcia and in her apprehension, she began to pace back and forth, the molding snugness of her satin gown revealing the wonderfully sensual undulation of her long, svelte thighs and the salient rhythm of her luscious hips.

“Mam’selle… let me… do your toilette.

It will comfort you,” murmured Marie.

Maria stopped, her eyes haggard with fear and revulsion.

“Maybe,” she said, half to herself, “if someone does come in… I can promise him a reward… tell him who I am… he’ll take me back home…“

“I… don’t know, mam’selle… but even if he would… how could you get past her?” asked Marie, her voice wavering with anxiety.

Marcia shrugged her shoulders, once again mistress of herself.

“In a tight spot, it’s everyone for himself, Marie. I’ll find a way.”

“And-and if you do, will you help me too?”

Marcia’s lips curled with the old arrogance and she replied casually, “I’ll do what I can, of course. But I’m important. I have to think of myself first, my place in life, you understand. Of course I’ll help you, but I must get back to my parents.”

She did not see the sudden look of hatred which dawned in her maid’s limpid blue eyes! “There isn’t much time, mam’selle,” said Mane hi a gentle, placating tone.