"I might have killed you on the spot when I found you in the house of your lover; but a man who, like myself, consecrates his life to a holy and honorable cause, ought to be able to profit by his own private griefs by rendering them subservient to this cause. This I have done, or rather intend to do. I have, as you see, denied myself the pleasure of doing myself justice, and have also spared your lover."
Something resembling a fugitive but appalling smile flitted over the lips of Geneviève.
"But as for your lover, you who know me should be well aware that I only bide my time."
"Monsieur," said Geneviève, "I am ready. Then wherefore all this prelude?"
"You are ready?"
"Yes, I am ready. Kill me, if you choose; you have good cause to do so."
Dixmer looked at Geneviève, and started in spite of himself. She at this moment appeared sublimely beautiful; a glory the most brilliant of all shone around her,—the glory that emanates from love.
"To continue," said Dixmer, "I have informed the queen; she expects you, notwithstanding she will in all probability raise numerous objections. You must overrule them all."
"Give me your orders, sir, and I will execute them."
"Immediately," continued Dixmer, "I shall knock at the door; Gilbert will open it, and with this poniard—" here Dixmer threw open his coat, and half drawing from its scabbard a double-edged poniard—"with this I shall kill him."