“What! for a dose of medicine? You speak as though it were poison—the morceau italianizé! And even were it, what could lie to confess in so clear a conscience?”
“You never loved me. Give me the bowl.”
“I will hold it to your lips.”
“No, no, you cannot, you will not.”
“You make me obstinate, madam. I am not wont to be disobeyed.”
“O, horror!”
“I never loved you, you say. Do you love me?”
“Before God, yes!”
“A little thing to refuse your love. Come now, it must be done!”
A shudder convulsed her whole frame; and then suddenly she stiffened, white as ashes.