“Forgive me—I do not mean in that way—that is over. You know. Now it is—my soul, unaided. I must satisfy myself before I die. Who knows what is after? And if I leave my life at this I shall have been a sluggard. I shall not have expressed what was in me to express.”
He pressed his handkerchief to his lips and gave a little sigh, as if what he had said and the force with which he had spoken exhausted him.
The Marquis stared at him with troubled eyes.
“Explain yourself, Luc. If you wish to go you shall—but——” he paused, at a loss.
“I must go,” answered Luc. “I have not very long—not much time. Here I merely let you watch me die.”
“Luc—Luc.”
“I must speak—forgive me again—you may think I go against my duty.”
The Marquis was crumpling the edge of the cloth in nervous fingers.
“What is the object of this resolution?” he demanded. “Tell me clearly. I have a right to know.”
Luc answered steadily and sweetly—