“Amélie,” said he, “it is no longer one promise I ask of you, there are two. Swear to me, in the first place, and above all else, that you will not solicit my pardon. Swear it, Amélie; swear it!”
“Do I need to swear, dear?” asked the young girl, bursting into tears. “I promise it.”
“Promise it on the hour when I first said I loved you, on the hour when you answered that I was loved!”
“On your life, on mine, on the past, on the future, on our smiles, on our tears.”
“I should die in any case, you see, Amélie, even though I had to beat my brains out against the wall; but I should die dishonored.”
“I promise you, Charles.”
“Then for my second request, Amélie: if we are taken and condemned, send me arms—arms or poison, the means of dying, any means. Coming from you, death would be another joy.”
“Far or near, free or a prisoner, living or dead, you are my master, I am your slave; order and I obey.”
“That is all, Amélie; it is simple and clear, you see, no pardon, and the means of death.”
“Simple and clear, but terrible.”