"
At that reminder of yesterday she winced, and I was sorry that I
had uttered it, for it must have set the wound in her pride
a-bleeding again. Yesterday I had as much as told her that I loved
her, and yesterday she had as much as answered me that she loved me,
for yesterday I had sworn that Saint-Eustache's story of my betrothal
was a lie. To-day she had had assurance of the truth from the very
woman to whom Lesperon's faith was plighted, and I could imagine
something of her shame.
"Yesterday, monsieur," she answered contemptuously, "you lied in
many things."
"Nay, I spoke the truth in all. Oh, God in heaven, mademoiselle,"
I exclaimed in sudden passion, "will you not believe me? Will you
not accept my word for what I say, and have a little patience until
I shall have discharged such obligations as will permit me to
explain?"
"Explain?" quoth she, with withering disdain.
"There is a hideous misunderstanding in all this. I am the victim
of a miserable chain of circumstances. Oh, I can say no more!
These Marsacs I shall easily pacify. I am to meet Monsieur de
Marsac at Grenade on the day after to-morrow. In my pocket I have
a letter from this living sword-blade, in which he tells me that he
will give himself the pleasure of killing me then. Yet--"
"I hope he does, monsieur!" she cut in, with a fierceness before
which I fell dumb and left my sentence unfinished. "I shall pray
God that he may!" she added. "You deserve it as no man deserved it
yet!"
For a moment I stood stricken, indeed, by her words.
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