“I know you would, Jacques. I know a friend when I see one. I don’t want to go now, monsieur,” she said to Antoine angrily. “If I know my friends, I also know my enemies. You are my gaoler, very well; you are afraid to do a little thing like this, very well. You make big promises and refuse this, again very well. Perhaps my gaoler has some orders to give?” and she looked at him with angry defiant eyes.
“Lucette, I——”
“No thank you. I don’t want to hear you. I won’t hear a word you say,” she cried, with a stamp of the foot. She could put a deal of meaning into that stamp of the foot. “I suppose a prisoner can go back into the Castle. Come, Jacques,” and she made as if to turn away.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t go, Lucette. You’ve such a fiery temper,” said Antoine, all unwilling that she should leave like this.
“Then you must find it very disagreeable to be with me,” she rapped back. “Come, Jacques,” and laid a hand on Dauban’s arm.
But Dauban was now less set upon love-making than seeking to gain the thousand crowns, and he would not go.
“Antoine did not say you should not go, Lucette; he only said there was more risk for him than for me. And that’s true.”
“But I don’t wish to go now. I know now who is not my friend; and that knowledge is cheaply gained by the lack of just a few things I wished. It does not matter to him what happens to me: he has his duty to think of and his master, the Governor. Like Tiger, like whelp. He would like to see me stretched on the rack.”
“Lucette, don’t say that, don’t,” cried Antoine.
“You could listen to my groans as my joints were stretched, and chuckle to think how well you had done your duty. I know you now.”