"I do not know—exactly. I am not sure. The agony of the thing is very great—it burns into my eyes—into my brain. Hartmann says it will produce insanity. I do not know whether this is true or not. I begin to feel that perhaps it may be—not that the light itself can produce it, but that inability to sleep, pain, nervous exhaustion, the constant glare and brilliance before my eyes—those things might cause a man to go insane, if they were kept up long enough."
"But—he—he will not dare to do that."
Duvall groaned, striving in vain to turn his head to one side. "He intends to keep me here, until I tell him where he can find the snuff box," he gasped.
"Richard!" Grace fairly screamed out his name. "Then you must tell—you must! You cannot let yourself go mad—not even for Monsieur Lefevre."
"I shall not tell—no matter what comes," he replied.
"Then I will. I refuse to let you suffer like this. I can't do it, I won't. If you do not speak, I shall. Oh, my God! Don't you see—I love you—I love you so—what do I care about this foolish snuff box? I want you—you—and I won't let them take you away from me."
"Grace, you shall not tell them."
"I will."
"I forbid it."
"I cannot help it, Richard. I am ready to disobey you—if I must, to save your life. Even if you turn from me—afterward—I cannot help it. I refuse to let them go ahead with this thing."