"Poor man!" said the widow, touched by his avowal.
"I do not say this to be pitied, madame," said Croustillac proudly. "I only desire to make you understand that if, from necessity, I have been compelled to accept the part of a complacent guest, I have never received money as a compensation for an insult." Then he continued, in a tone of profound emotion, "Can you, madame, be ignorant of the wrong which has been done me by this proposition, not so much because it is humiliating, as because it was made by you? My God! you wished to amuse yourself with me: that I would have endured without complaint; but to offer me money to compensate for your raillery—ah! madame, you have made me acquainted with a misery of which I was heretofore ignorant." After a moment's silence he continued, with added bitterness, "After all, why should you have treated me otherwise? Who am I? Under what auspices did I come here? Even the clothes I wear are not my own! Why concern yourself with me?"
These last words of the poor man had an accent of such sincere grief and mortification that the young woman, touched by them, regretted deeply the indiscreet proffer she had made him. With bent head she walked beside Croustillac. They arrived, thus, near the fountain of white marble of which they had spoken.
The young widow still leaned on the adventurer's arm. After a few minutes of reflection she said, "You are right; I was wrong. I judged you wrongly. The compensation I offered you was almost an insult; but do not for a moment think that I wished to humiliate you. Recall what I said to you this morning of your courage and the generosity of your heart. Well, all this I still think. You say you love me; if this love is sincere it cannot offend me; it would be wrong in me to receive so flattering a feeling with contempt. So," she continued, with a charming air, "is peace declared? Are you still angry with me? Say no, that I may ask you to remain here some days as a friend, without fear of your refusal."
"Ah, madame," cried Croustillac, with transport "order, dispose of me—I am your servant, your slave, your dog. These kind words which you have spoken will make me forget all! Your friend! you have called me your friend! Ah, madame, why am I only the poor younger son of a Gascon? I should be so happy to have it in my power to prove my devotion."
"Who knows but that I have a reparation to make you? Await me here; I must go and look for Youmäale and find something, a present, yes, chevalier, a present which I defy you to refuse this time."
"But, madame——"
"You refuse? Ah, heavens! when I think that you desired to be my husband! Wait here, I will return." And so saying, Angela, who had reached the marble fountain, turned quickly into the path in the park on the side of the house.
"What does she wish to say—to do?" asked Croustillac of himself, looking mechanically into the fountain. Then he exclaimed, with fervor, "It is all the same, I am hers for life and death; she has called me her friend. I shall perhaps never see her again, but all the same, I worship her; that cannot hurt any one; and I do not know but that it will make me a better man. Two days ago I would have accepted the diamonds; to-day I would be ashamed to do so. It is wonderful how love changes one."
Croustillac was suddenly interrupted in the midst of his philosophical reflections. Colonel Rutler, by the uncertain light of the moon, had seen the adventurer walking arm in arm with Blue Beard; he had heard her last words—"my husband; wait for me here." Rutler had no doubt that the Gascon was the man for whom he was looking; he sprang suddenly from his hiding-place, hurled himself upon the chevalier threw a cloak over his face, and, profiting by Croustillac's surprise, felled him to the ground. Then he passed a rope around his hands and had quickly mastered his captive's resistance, thanks to great strength. The chevalier was thus overpowered, garroted and captured in less time than it has taken to write these words.