“Nay,” she answered simply, “this may not be. Even if the porter were to be bought or beguiled, thou couldst not pass the sentinels. It may not be.”
“The sentinels, belike, are sleeping, or wellnigh sleeping, and I have a dagger. O Madame! for the sake of the fortune of France, and the honour of the King”—for this, I knew, was my surest hope—“delay not, nor reck at all of me. I have but one life, and it is thine freely.”
“They will burn thee, or slay thee with other torments.”
“Not so,” I said; “I shall not be taken alive.”
“That were deadly sin,” she answered. “I shall not go and leave thee to die for me. Then were my honour lost, and I could not endure to live. Entreat me not, for I will not go forth, as now. Nay more, I tell thee as I have told my judges, that which the Saints have spoken to me. ‘Bear this thy martyrdom gently,’ they say, ‘tu t’en viendras en royaume du Paradis.’ Moreover, this I know, that I am to be delivered with great victory!”
Here she clasped her hands, looking upwards, and her face was as the face of an angel.
“Fair victory it were to leave thee in my place, and so make liars of my brethren of Paradise.”
Then, alas! I knew that I was of no more avail to move her; yet one last art I tried.
“Madame,” I said, “I have prayed you in the name of the fortune of France, and the honour of the King, which is tarnished for ever if you escape not.”
“I shall be delivered,” she answered.