"Thou wert betrothed to Jacques Colis?" demanded the châtelain, using a gentleness of voice that was singularly in contrast with his former stern interrogatories.
The utmost that Christine could reply was to bow her head.
"Thy nuptials were to take place at the late meeting of the Abbaye des Vignerons--it is our unpleasant duty to wound where we could wish to heal--but thy betrothed refused to redeem his pledge?"
"The heart is weak, and sometimes shrinks from its own good purposes," murmured Christine. "He was but human, and he could not withstand the sneers of all about him."
The châtelain was so entranced by her gentle and sweet manner that he leaned forward to listen, lest a syllable of what she whispered might escape his ears.
"Thou acquittest, then, Jacques Colis of any false intention?"
"He was less strong than he believed himself, mein Herr; he was not equal to sharing our disgrace, which was put rudely and too strongly before him."
"Thou hadst consented freely to the marriage thyself, and wert well disposed to become his wife?"
The imploring look and heaving respiration of Christine were lost on the blunted sensibilities of a criminal judge.
"Was the youth dear to thee?" he repeated, without perceiving the wound he was inflicting on female reserve.