"We shall be dishonored together," Lord Wentworth retorted. "You are in my power! Where will you find shelter?"
"Mon Dieu! in death," she calmly replied.
Lord Wentworth turned pale and shuddered. That he should cause the death of such as Diane!
"Such obstinacy is not natural," he added, shaking his head. "In reality you would be afraid to drive me to extremities, if you did not still cling to some insane hope, Madame. You are always dwelling upon the happening of some impossible event. Come, tell me, from whom can you be expecting succor at this hour?"
"From God, from the king—" Diane replied.
There was a sort of rising inflection in her voice and in her thought as well,—a hesitation which Lord Wentworth knew only too well how to interpret.
"She is doubtless thinking of that d'Exmès," he said to himself.
But it was a dangerous memory which he did not dare to touch upon or to arouse.
He contented himself with the bitter rejoinder,—
"Yes, count upon the king and upon God! But if God had thought fit to help you, Madame. He would have come to your rescue the very first day, I should think! and here a year has passed away, ending to-day, during which you have not felt the benefit of His protection."