He uttered these sentences in a loud, harsh voice, very different from that in which he had spoken to her a few minutes before.
When he had finished, the crowd cheered the speech.
The girl looked at them, and, not knowing why, began to cry.
This exasperated the duke.
He blew a small silver whistle; instantly a hand of armed men entered the hall, and he gave orders that the prisoner should be conveyed to the supreme court to be tried for attacking the chief officer of the royal guard, with intent to murder him, while he was on duty.
At this instant the girl seemed to take her resolution; she crawled up to the savage duke's feet, laid her head down upon them and kissed them, saying: "I consent to be thy slave, my lord. O, give not my father up to the king's officers."
The duke countermanded his orders.
"Yes," said she, her face suddenly transfigured, beaming with the twofold radiance of beauty and nobility of soul, "strike off his chains, and let him go free, dear, good lord."
There were no longer any arms being pricked with lancet-shaped needles. There were no longer any scribes enrolling the people's names. There were only fixed eyes, listening ears, and beatings of sympathetic hearts. The crowd was dimly conscious of the sublimity of the act; they were thrilled, awed, as much by her beauty as by the simplicity of her heroic self-sacrifice.
But Dhamaphat, who felt more deeply than the rest, noted how suddenly she had overcome her horror, how readily she had sacrificed herself for her father, and thought he saw in her face the effulgence of a heavenly light.