“Which?”
“That I have been your lover; that I went to Valpinson by appointment with you; that the cartridge-case which was found there was used by me to get fire; that my blackened hands were soiled by the half-burnt fragment of our letters, which I had tried to scatter.”
“Never!” cried the countess.
Jacques’s face turned crimson, as he said with an accent of merciless severity,—
“It shall be told! I will have it so, and it must be done!”
The countess seemed to be furious.
“Never!” she cried again, “never!”
And with convulsive haste she added,—
“Do you not see that the truth cannot possibly be told. They would never believe in our innocence. They would only look upon us as accomplices.”
“Never mind. I am not willing to die.”