"Then," responded the governor, "Lord Wentworth, the last scion of one of the wealthiest and most illustrious families in England, on his knees will offer his name and his life to Madame de Castro. My passion, you see, is as honorable as it is sincere."
"Is he ambitious, I wonder?" thought Diane.
"Listen, my Lord," she rejoined aloud, trying to force a smile. "I advise you to let me go, and send me to my father the king; and I will not consider myself out of your debt by the mere payment of a ransom. When the war between the two countries is at an end, as it must be sooner or later, if I cannot give you myself, I will at least obtain for you,—I give you my word,—as many, yes, more and greater, honors and dignities than you could hope for if you were my husband. Be generous, my Lord, and my gratitude shall be yours."
"I divine your thoughts, Madame," said Wentworth, bitterly; "but I am more disinterested than you think, and more ambitious as well. Of all the treasures in the whole universe, I hope only for you."
"One word more, then, my Lord, which you will perhaps understand better," said Diane, embarrassed but proud at the same time. "I am beloved by another, my Lord."
"And do you suppose I am going to deliver you to this rival by letting you go?" cried Wentworth, fairly beside himself. "No! he shall at least be as wretched as I,—more wretched, indeed, for he cannot see you, Madame. From this day only three events can deliver you: either my death,—and I am still young and vigorous; or peace between France and England,—but wars between those countries usually last a hundred years, as you know; or the taking of Calais,—but Calais is impregnable. In default of the occurrence of one of these three almost hopeless events, I fancy you will be my prisoner for a long time; for I have purchased all Lord Grey's rights over you, and I would not receive a ransom for you, even though it were an empire! As for flight, it will be better for you not to think of it; for I shall watch you, and you will see what a careful and cautious jailer a man makes who is in love."
With these words Lord Wentworth bowed low and withdrew, leaving Diane a prey to bitter despair.
Her only consolation, and that but a slight one, lay in the reflection that death was a sure refuge, which was always open for the unfortunate when danger was at its height.