"Benedetto, you blaspheme. Your life is not too dear for me to purchase."
"I wish I could earn your love," murmured Benedetto, apparently annihilated; "you gave up a million to rescue me. If you had more money, I am sure you would sacrifice it to secure my full pardon."
"Oh, I do not give up all hope yet," exclaimed Madame Danglars, vivaciously.
"What? Have you still got the million?" asked Benedetto, hastily.
"I shall not deliver the money before to-morrow. But that has nothing to do with the matter. What I have promised, I keep."
Benedetto remained silent, while a thousand confused ideas ran through his mind. He stood with downcast eyes, his left hand carelessly stroking his chain and his right crumpling his green cap.
"Mother," he finally said, in a low voice, "there is no use speaking of the past—let us think of the future. You are going to depart to-morrow; where are you staying now?"
"I live at the vicarage of Beaussuet. The Jesuit fathers recommended me there, and I am staying there over-night, although the priest is absent."
"Oh, God!" sobbed Benedetto, "if I could only accompany you."
"I would be glad, too; I have a rough road to go back to Beaussuet. The mistral blows, and the roads of Oliolles are said to be so dangerous that my driver refuses to take me back to-night. Well, I will find another one."