“Oh! oh!” cried the doctor again.
“I love a married woman!” Charny went on, “and with that wild love which, makes me forget everything else. Well, I will say to her, there remain for us still some happy days on this earth. Come, my beloved, and we will live the life of the blessed, if we love each other. Afterwards there will be death—better than a life like this. Let us love at least.”
“Not badly reasoned for a man in a fever,” said the doctor.
“But her children!” cried Charny suddenly, with fury; “she will not leave her children. Oh! we will carry them away also. Surely I can carry her, she is so light, and her children too.” Then he gave a terrible cry: “But they are the children of a king!”
The doctor left his patient and approached the queen.
“You are right, doctor,” said she; “this young man would incur a terrible danger if he were overheard.”
“Listen again,” said the doctor.
“Oh, no more.”
But just then Charny said, in a gentler voice:
“Marie, I feel that you love me, but I will say nothing about it. Marie, I felt the touch of your foot in the coach; your hand touched mine, but I will never tell; I will keep this secret with my life. My blood may all flow away, Marie, but my secret shall not escape with it. My enemy steeped his sword in my blood, but if he has guessed my secret, yours is safe. Fear nothing, Marie, I do not even ask you if you love me; you blushed, that is enough.”