"By the memory of that love I implore you now to speak the truth and forfeit your revenge. I am only a woman, monsieur, surely my punishment is great enough in knowing that I have brought you to your death!"
"I'm not dead yet, mademoiselle. You reproach yourself too soon."
"But you will die!" she cried.
"When it is written."
She clasped her hands and gazed at me beseechingly. "I want you to look back into a night, one night," she muttered very low, "I asked what would you give me for my love, and you replied, 'all that I can!'"
"Too true. I was sincere as well in what I said."
"Then give to me the memory of a man!"
"And you will keep the bargain, how? By worshipping that memory?"
She gave a little moan. "For God's sake," she pleaded, "For God's sake, M. Hume."
"For man's sake," I retorted, "I shall speak the truth," and looked beyond her.