"Your wife!" laughed René scornfully. "This woman is not your wife, fool."
"The priest has joined us," insisted the peasant.
"Through a fraud,—a crime."
"That matters not. She has said 'Yes' at the altar. We are husband and wife before God."
René turned threateningly upon him and Vilon lowered his head. The idea of resistance never entered his brain, but neither could he entertain the idea of resigning Amélie. In body and soul he belonged to his master, the Marquis de Brezé; in body and soul she belonged to him, Jean Vilon.
Amélie placed herself beside her husband.
"Jean is right," she said. "He is indeed, my master. Happiness has died and love also. Like you, I sought at first to break this bond—but I cannot,—we cannot. I expiate."
Tears flowed fast over her cheeks. Wild passion shot from Vilon's eyes. He longed to kneel before her and clasp her in his arms. He dug his nails into the palms to restrain himself. He hoarsely asked:
"Is this the woman your lordship has loved?"
"She was my promised wife. You have undone me by one act, Jean Vilon," answered René in a voice of deep sadness.