"
"You mean the Cause," she cried. "But, believe me, you can do
nothing. To sacrifice yourself cannot profit it. Infinitely better
you can serve the Duke by waiting until the time is ripe for another
blow. And how can you better preserve your life than by remaining
at Lavedan until the persecutions are at an end?"
"I was not thinking of the Cause, mademoiselle, but of myself alone
--of my own personal honour. I would that I could explain; but I am
afraid," I ended lamely.
"Afraid?" she echoed, now raising her eyes in wonder.
"Aye, afraid. Afraid of your contempt, of your scorn."
The wonder in her glance increased and asked a question that I could
not answer. I stretched forward, and caught one of the hands lying
idle in her lap.
"Roxalanne," I murmured very gently, and my tone, my touch, and the
use of her name drove her eyes for refuge behind their lids again.
A flush spread upon the ivory pallor of her face, to fade as swiftly,
leaving it very white. Her bosom rose and fell in agitation, and
the little hand I held trembled in my grasp. There was a moment's
silence. Not that I had need to think or choose my words. But
there was a lump in my throat - aye, I take no shame in confessing
it, for this was the first time that a good and true emotion had
been vouchsafed me since the Duchesse de Bourgogne had shattered
my illusions ten years ago.
"Roxalanne," I resumed presently, when I was more master of myself,
"we have been good friends, you and I, since that night when I
climbed for shelter to your chamber, have we not?"
"But yes, monsieur," she faltered.
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