"Very good!" Arnauld muttered to himself; "you shall pay for all this some day, ingrate!"
Meanwhile he seemed to give way to an irresistible impulse of affection.
"I am weak, and I feel that I am yielding," said he, pretending to wipe away a tear which was not there; and, as if in spite of himself, he breathed a kiss upon the lowly head of the fair penitent.
"What ecstasy!" cried Bertrande; "he has almost forgiven me!"
At this moment the door opened, and the jailer reappeared.
"Humph! Made it up, have you?" said he, testily, as his eye fell upon the sentimental tableau presented by the happy pair. "I was sure of it,—you're such a milksop, Martin!"
"What's that? Do you blame him for his kind heart?" said Bertrande.
"Ha, ha! Come, come!" said Arnauld, laughing in the most fatherly way.
"Well, as I said before, it's his business," replied the unmoved jailer; "and it's my business now to carry out my orders. The time has expired, and you cannot stay a minute longer, my weeping beauty."
"What! must I leave him already?" asked Bertrande.