“A fair one, surely,” said that son of hell--“a very fair one. The risk of my life against your hand in marriage.”
“If you--if you truly loved me as you say, monsieur,” she reasoned, “you would serve me without asking guerdon.”
“In any other thing I would. But is it fair to ask a man who is racked by love of you to place another in your arms, and that at the risk of his own life? Ah, mademoiselle, I am but a man, and I am subject to human weaknesses. If you will consent, this Lesperon shall go free, but you must see him no more; and I will carry my consideration so far as to give you six months in which to overcome your sorrow, ere I present myself to you again to urge my suit.”
“To the value which I set upon my life you must add my very human jealousy. From such a combination what can you hope for?”
“To-morrow,” was that infernal cheat's laconic answer.
They were silent a little while, then she fell a-sobbing.
“Be pitiful, monsieur! Have mercy if you, indeed, love me. Oh, he must not die! I cannot, I dare not, let him die! Save him, monsieur, and I will pray for you every night of my life; I will pray for you to our Holy Mother as I am now praying to you for him.”
Lived there the man to resist that innocent, devout appeal? Lived there one who in answer to such gentle words of love and grief could obtrude his own coarse passions? It seems there did, for all he answered was “You know the price, child.”
“And God pity me! I must pay it. I must, for if he dies I shall have his blood upon my conscience!” Then she checked her grief, and her voice grew almost stern in the restraint she set upon herself. “If I give you my promise to wed you hereafter--say in six months' time--what proof will you afford me that he who is detained under the name of Lesperon shall go free?”
I caught the sound of something very like a gasp from the Count.
“Remain in Toulouse until to-morrow, and to-night ere he departs he shall come to take his leave of you. Are you content?”
Then at last I leapt to my feet. I could endure no more. You may marvel that I had had the heart to endure so much, and to have so let her suffer that I might satisfy myself how far this scoundrel Chatellerault would drive his trickster's bargain.