“Maria,” he said in an anguished tone, “I cannot sign.”
He turned his face from her, and she sprang to her feet with her hand to her brow.
The lace on her bosom rose painfully with her agitated breathing, the pearls pressed tight round her swelling throat; her countenance, framed in the long black ringlets, was suffused and trembling.
“Have you no regard for your wife?” asked Captain Hoogewerf.
“I have some regard for my honour,” replied the Ruard, wiping his forehead, damp with anguish of mind and body.
The sound of blows and splintering wood told that the door was being forced.
Bloodthirsty cries of rage and triumph pierced the din of the attack.
“Down with the friends of France!”
“Show us the signature!”