"What is the meaning of all this, girl?" exclaimed the Marchioness, as soon as the door had closed upon Monsieur de Liancourt; "you are plotting some stratagem,--your delays have some end in view."
"None, Madam," answered Rose d'Albret. "The only object that I can have in life is, to avoid a union with a man I despise and abhor."
"Despise and abhor!" exclaimed Jacqueline de Chazeul, in a mocking tone; "pray may I ask how it happens that such passions have found their way into your gentle breast?"
"His own deeds, which have come to my ears in spite of your precautions, Madam," replied Rose, "have planted those feelings there, never to be rooted out."
"What deeds?" demanded the Marchioness, sternly.
"Unhappily I have promised never to name them," answered Rose; "but you know to what I allude right well; and you cannot doubt with what eyes I must look upon your son."
"You must be his wife, notwithstanding," said Madame de Chazeul.
But Rose could bear no more. "Never!" she exclaimed; "never! Come what may I will never be his wife. You may drag me to the altar, but not even by silence will I seem to give consent. I will refuse the vow, I will cast away the ring, I will call God to witness that I am not his wife. This hand shall never sign the contract till it moulders in the grave; and if death be the consequence, I will not do one act that can make me his;" and overpowered by her own vehemence, as well as by the many emotions in her bosom, she burst into a bitter flood of tears.
Madame de Chazeul gazed at her for a moment, while her whole face worked with passion, which she could not find words to express; and then shaking her hand at her, she exclaimed, in a low bitter tone, "You shall!" and quitted the room.