If Angela and her husband had had enough presence of mind to scrutinize Croustillac's face, they would have seen a kind of triumphant and malignant joy, which betrayed itself in spite of him in the menacing frown of his forehead.
Monsieur De Chemerant asked him a third time why he had called.
"I called you, sir," said the chevalier in a dismal voice, and with the air of coming out of a deep study, "I called you to my aid——"
"Was it this wretch? your highness," said the envoy, pointing to Monmouth, who, standing with arms crossed, remained by the chair where Angela had seated herself, ready to defend her and to sell his life dearly, for, as we have said, he was ignorant of the adventurer's intention. "Speak the word, your highness," continued De Chemerant, "and I will hand him over to my guards."
The Gascon shook his head, and answered, "I charge myself with this man; this is my affair. It is not against such a creature as this that I called you to my assistance, sir, it is against myself."
"What do you say, your highness?"
"I mean that I was afraid that I would allow myself to be softened by the tears of his woman, as dangerously hypocritical as she is audaciously culpable."
"Your highness, it often takes courage—much courage—to be just."
"You are right, sir; that is why I feared my weakness. I called you in order that the sight of you might keep alive my indignation and rekindle my wrath, for you have been a witness of my dishonor, sir. So, tell me that if I pardon I would be a coward, that I should merit my fate. Is it not so, sir?"
"Your highness——"