Hébert guessed her thoughts.
"Rather death than me, hein?" he said, leaning closer. "Is that what you are thinking, Ma'mselle White-face?"
Her eyes spoke for her.
"I can save you yet," he cried, angered by her silence. "A word from me and your patriotism is above reproach. Come, you 've made a good fight, and I won't say that has n't made me like you all the better. I always admire spirit; but now it's time the play was over. Down with the curtain, and let's kiss and make friends behind it."
Mademoiselle stood silent, a helpless thing at bay.
"You won't, eh?" and his tone changed suddenly. "Very well, my pretty piece of innocence; it's Fouquier Tinville to-morrow, and then the guillotine,—but"—his voice sank savagely—"my turn first."
She quivered in a sick horror. "What did he mean; what could he do? Oh, Mary Virgin!"
His face came very close with its pale, hideous smile.
"Come to me willingly, and I 'll save your life and set you free when I 've had enough of you. Remain the obstinate pig you are, and you shall come all the same, but the guillotine shall have you next day."
Her white lips moved.