Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible cry.
"O! death—death to him you love so much, to whom you have addressed these words!" cried he, shaking the door in a transport of jealousy.
Active as a tigress, with one bound Cecily was at the wicket, and, as if she had with difficulty dispelled her feigned transports, she said to Jacques Ferrand, in a low, palpitating voice: "Well! I avow I did not wish to return to the door. I am here in spite of myself; for I fear your words spoken just now. If you say strike—I will strike. You love me well, then?"
"Do you wish gold—all my gold?"
"No; I have enough."
"Have you an enemy? I'll kill him."
"I have no enemy."
"Will you be my wife? I will espouse you."
"I am married."
"But what do you wish, then! what do you wish?"