"Do so."
"Well, my lord, the distich is as follows—"
"'The Counts of Barmont Senectaire, Demon-hate and heart of stone.'"
The Count smiled.
"Well do you fancy that I have degenerated from my ancestors?"
"I suppose nothing, sir, Heaven forbid!" he answered humbly, "I only see with terror that you are preparing a hideous future for yourself."
"Be it so! I accept it in all its rigor, if God will permit me to accomplish my oath."
"Alas! My lord, you know that man proposes; you are at this moment a prisoner of the Cardinal; reflect, I implore you, who knows whether you will ever leave the prison to which I am conducting you? Consent to be free."
"No; cease your entreaties! The Cardinal is not immortal. If not before, my liberty will be restored me on his death, which cannot be long deferred, I hope. And now carefully bear this in mind, my resolution is so fixed, that if in spite of my orders you abandon me here, at the inn where we now are, the first use I should make of the liberty you have given me back, would be to go at once and surrender myself into the hands of his Eminence; you understand me thoroughly, I suppose?"
The old servant bowed his head without answering, and two tears slowly ran down his cheeks.