Love and hate still persisted in the heart of the dying man. Such words alone could prolong his existence for a few fleeting minutes. At the hour of his agony, in the shattering of all his dreams, he clung desperately to every chance of reprisal and vengeance.
His eyes summoned Ralph, who bent down lower and heard him mutter: “Clarice—Clarice d’Etigues—you must marry her. Listen—Clarice is not the daughter of the Baron—he confessed it to me—she is the daughter of another woman he loved.”
Ralph said solemnly: “I swear to you I will marry her—I swear it.”
“Godfrey!” said Beaumagnan.
The Baron went on praying. Ralph laid a hand on his shoulder and made him bend down to catch Beaumagnan’s faint utterance.
“Clarice is to marry d’Andresy. I wish it.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Baron, incapable of resistance.
“Swear it.”
“I swear it.”
“By your eternal salvation?”