I started from the rack, but the straps held me back.
“Mademoiselle,” I cried, hot with rage, “I forbid such a sacrifice—you wife to this scoundrel! His worst with me must be less hideous than that!”
But Roquefort waved me to silence.
“Understand, Mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “that I make you the offer of my hand only out of courtesy, because I want you to come willingly to my bed. I have a passion for you—I desire you—and I am going to possess you! Heretofore, since your uncle was too weak to command you, I have urged my suit discreetly. Hereafter I shall carry it with a high hand. You are, self-confessed, a traitor to me, and I can do with you as I please. I have the right over you of justice, high and low! Yet I am generous—yet still do I offer you the title of Madame la Duchesse de Roquefort, and your lover’s life besides. There are few women who would need to be asked twice. Nor do I intend to ask you twice, Mademoiselle. I am weary of your indifference. You will choose now whether you will be my wife willingly, or——”
His glance finished the sentence. She understood—so did Brissac—white-livered coward, why did he not strike the scoundrel down where he stood! I jerked at the straps in an agony of rage. His wife or his mistress! A pretty choice!
“But, M. le Duc,” began Brissac, in sickly protest.
Roquefort turned slowly and looked at him, with eyes red with malignant menace. Brissac stood silent, with twitching lips. Yes, he was a coward, as Fronsac had said.
Then Roquefort turned again to the girl.
“I await your answer, Mademoiselle,” he said with a sinister calmness.
She looked about for a moment helplessly, as though seeking some way of escape. There was only one that I could see—and I cursed the straps that held me helpless there! If only God would grant it me to kill this monster!