And by his very intonation she knew that she would never, with his consent, kneel to Joséphine Bonaparte. Yet she would not give up.
“With the ruby necklace,” she answered, and went on. But he soon stopped her.
“Valentine, you cannot really be proposing that I should stoop to beg my life of Bonaparte!”
She winced, for the tone was almost hard, and hurt. “No, no,” she interposed hastily, “not that you should! But I, your wife, approaching Mme Bonaparte, a wife herself, that is a very different thing. For me to do so is a most natural step, and when I point out to her what surely her husband cannot realise, the infamy of the means by which he took you, the violation of your safe-conduct——”
He had been staring at the floor, his mouth set. But again he broke in. “The First Consul has had plenty of time to reflect on that, Valentine. Believe me, he knows what he is doing.”
O, the place was cold, after all, deadly cold! And Gaston so inexorable——
“And you will not let me——” she began once more unsteadily.
“A thousand times no! I forbid it absolutely.”
Very low, Valentine said, “And what of me? Am I too to be sacrificed to the pride of your race? Can I not plead for myself, Gaston,—not with Bonaparte indeed, but with you, with you!”
He turned, he caught her quickly in his arms. “My darling, my very dear, don’t say that!” he exclaimed in a moved voice. “Don’t say that! It is not I indeed, nor pride——”