“It rests with you, mademoiselle,� he said with gallantry, “to determine madame’s fate. There is no doubt that she is a heretic, and you know the doom of heretics, but you may save her yet.�
Rosaline drew her breath sharply; an intuition warned her of what was coming. She was white to the lips, but her blue eyes shone.
“Your meaning, monsieur?� she said in a low voice.
“I stand high in the favor of M. Montrevel,� he said placidly; “I am a good Catholic. It is possible for me to obtain many concessions, if I wish to do so. Mademoiselle understands me; it is necessary for me to help her, and my help can be obtained if Rosaline de St. Cyr desires it.�
She stood looking at him in silence, and he became at last a little uneasy under that searching glance.
“You know that I love you, mademoiselle,� he said; “if you consent now—this moment—to marry me, I will save madame.�
He spoke with the air of one who contemplated a virtuous deed.
“You wish me to marry you!� she exclaimed, her voice quivering with passion. “M. de Baudri, I too am a heretic.�
She turned on him the same face that she had turned on the cobbler in the wood.
“Why do you not give me up to the authorities, monsieur?� she went on defiantly; “you are a soldier, do your duty!�