“I would return it.”
“It is infamous. You presume upon my tenderness, that is all for your cruel wound. Yet I do not think you are much hurt.”
“Not now, with your hand upon my heart. Tell me, Carinne—it was Jacques Crépin that brought you here?”
“That had me conveyed hither by his deputy, Gusman. It was this morning, after your trial. He had had me released from prison—le pécheur pénitent. God had moved him to remorse, it seemed, and some unknown—perhaps one that had overheard us in La Force—to knowledge of our friendship,—yours and mine. He procured me my passport; accompanied me beyond the barrier d’Enfer; committed me to the keeping of this deadman of the quarries. He swore he would play his life against yours—would win you to me here or perish in the attempt. Judge then, you, of my waiting torture—my anguish of expectation in this solitude!”
“Would win me to you! And you desired this thing? Oh, ma mie, ma mie! how, then, could you welcome me as you did?”
“I do not know.”
“And deny and abuse me and give me such pain?”
“I do not know.”
“For you love me very dearly... Carinne, I am dying!”
“I do not believe you. That trick shall not serve a second time.”