"Call, Madame; many will hear. But this paper, and the general fear of Mazarin since the Fronde, and the fact that I have practically obliterated my signature by scratching a pen across it … Well, if you think it wise."
Her arms dropped upon the table, and the despair on her face deceived him. "Monsieur, this is unmanly, cruel!"
"All is fair in love and war. My love compels me to use force. What if this document had fallen into D'Hérouville's hands? He would have gone about it less gently."
Madame bent her head upon her arms, and the candles threw a golden sparkle into her hair. The vicomte's heart beat fast, and his hand stole forth and hovered above that beautiful head but dared not touch it. Presently madame looked up. There were tears in her eyes, but the vicomte did not know that they were tears of rage.
"Think, Madame," he said eagerly; "is a dungeon more agreeable to you than I am, and would not a dungeon be worse than death?"
Madame roughly brushed her eyes. "You speak of love; I doubt your sincerity."
"I love you so well that I would kill D'Hérouville and De Saumaise and Du Cévennes, all of them, rather than that one of them should possess the right to call you his."
"But can you not see how impossible life with you would be after this night? I should hold you in perpetual fear."
"I will find a way to overcome that fear."
"But each time I look at you would recall this humiliating moment. I am a proud woman, Monsieur, and I suffer now from humiliation as I never suffered before;" all of which was true. "I am a Montbazon; it is very close to royal blood. If I were forced to marry you, you would certainly live to regret it."