"I refuse, my lord," he coldly replied, "because you have no right to question me."
"You forget, however, Señor Padre, that if I have not the right, I have the might, at least, at this moment."
"You are at liberty, my lord, to abuse that might, by applying it to an unhappy and defenceless man. I am no soldier, and physical suffering frightens me. I do not know how I shall endure the tortures you will perhaps inflict on me, but there is one thing of which I am certain."
"What is it, may I ask, Señor Padre?"
"That I will die, my lord, before answering any of your questions."
"We shall see that," he said, sarcastically, "if you compel me to have recourse to violence."
"You will see," he replied, in a gentle but firm voice, which denoted an irrevocable determination.
"For the last time, I deign to warn you: take care—reflect."
"All my reflections are made, my lord; I am in your power. Abuse my weakness as you may think proper, I shall not even attempt a useless defence. I shall not be the first monk of my order who has fallen a martyr to duty: others have preceded me, and others will doubtless follow me in this painful track."
The Count stamped his foot savagely; the spectators, dumb and motionless, exchanged terrified glances, for they foresaw that this scene would soon have a terrible denouement, between two men, neither of whom would make concessions; while the first of them, blinded by rage, would soon not be in a condition to listen to the salutary counsels of reason.