“It is,” she said.
He drew his stiletto.
“I do not fear that,” she cried. “You may kill me, but I will give you no other answer. I will not leave here without Vandemar.”
While they had been talking Pascal had stepped within the dungeon door, still holding the paper.
“So be it!” he cried.
An instant later the door was closed and Vivienne knew that she and Vandemar were doomed to a lingering death.
Manassa had been an interested observer: “I was right, was I not, master? She is no longer a Batistelli—she is a Della Coscia. Let them die together.”
“Let them die together,” echoed Pascal, but although he spoke the words, he knew that they did not come from his heart.
“Master, where is the paper?”
Pascal searched his garments; then they both looked in every direction, but it could not be found. A feeling of remorse seized Pascal. He had not meant to go so far. He knew that they had food and he would have come again. He wished for Vandemar’s death, but if he did not love her, he was proud of his sister. Now she must die, and by his hand.