“Promise what you like.”
“Ah! now I hear you set your teeth, as if clinched on some secret pain. And I am happy once more. If you were to die, did you say?”
“Yes, my own love.”
“Look! you cannot forbear the truth. Give him the empty husk, you mean, so long as the sweet kernel remains your own. You called me your own love.”
“Are you not?”
“By every fibre of my soul that clings to yours. How could I live, then, if you were dead?”
“Make room. I must come up to you again.”
“No, no—you shall not. I am content at last in everything but your safety. Hush—O, hush! What was that noise?”
“I heard none. Where is Fanchette?”
“She is waiting within to take you to the gate. Stop, while I fetch her.”