She uttered it unblushingly, and with tender eyes fixed on him.
"Your lover!" he exclaimed, with vile emphasis.
"He will be my husband," she murmured, while the mounting hot colour burned at her temples.
"Changed—who is changed?" he said, in a vehement underneath. "For that reason I am to be false to her who does me the honour to care for me!"
"I would not have you false to her in thought or deed."
"You ask me to spare this man on account of his relationship to your lover, and though he has murdered the brother of the lady whom I esteem. What on earth is the meaning of the petition? Really, you amaze me."
"I appeal to your generosity, Wilfrid, I am Emilia."
"Are you?"
She gave him her hand. He took it, and felt at once the limit of all that he might claim. Dropping the hand, he said:
"Will nothing less than my ruin satisfy you? Since that night at La Scala, I am in disgrace with my uncle; I expect at any moment to hear that I am cashiered from the army, if not a prisoner. What is it that you ask of me now? To conspire with you in shielding the man who has done a mortal injury to the family of which I am almost one. Your reason must perceive that you ask too much. I would willingly assist you in sparing the feelings of Count Ammiani; and, believe me, gratitude is the last thing I require to stimulate my services. You ask too much; you must see that you ask too much."