“I know nothing of the sort,” I protested.
“Will you obey my orders, M. de Tavernay, or will you not?” she inquired sternly.
“No one can be compelled to perjure himself,” I answered doggedly.
“Nor shall I compel you to do so. We will continue then: I know you are only a silly girl, yet even a silly girl should hesitate to do a friend malicious injury. Nevertheless I will forgive you, for I see how you yourself regret it and I am too generous to strike back, even though you deserve it.”
I looked down at her and saw that there were indeed tears in the eyes which she turned up to me.
She held out her hand with a little tremulous smile.
“Will you not forgive me, my friend?” she asked.
I seized the hand and covered it with kisses.
“I adore you!” I cried. “Adore you!—adore you!”
And I would have asked nothing better, nothing sweeter, than to die there at her feet, with her warm hand in mine and her eyes enfolding me in a lambent flame which raised me to a height that kings might envy.