"Oh, now you are crying, Mademoiselle Bathilde."
"And I am here in this bed, chained, dying!" cried Bathilde.
"Oh, do not cry like that, mademoiselle; it is your poor Boniface who begs you."
"No, I will be firm, I will have courage; see, Boniface, I weep no longer; but you understand that I must know everything from hour to hour, so that when he dies I may die."
"You die, Mademoiselle Bathilde! oh, never, never!"
"You have promised, you have sworn it. Boniface, you will keep me informed of all?"
"Oh, wretch that I am, what have I promised!"
"And, if it must be, at the moment—the terrible moment—you will aid me, you will conduct me, will you not, Boniface? I must see him again—once—once more—if it be on the scaffold."
"I will do all you desire, mademoiselle," said Boniface, falling on his knees, and trying vainly to restrain his sobs.
"You promise me?"