He gazed up at her, moved I could see by her entreaty. On a sudden he rose slowly to his feet.
“You ask this man’s life at my hands,” he said quietly. “Why?”
My lady’s back was towards me—I could not see her face. But plainly to my ears there came these whispered words:
“Because I love him!”
I think that a cry escaped my lips. Yet I stood rooted to the spot—immovable. But only for a moment. Then I understood.
“Madam, madam!” I cried: “This must not be!” Then, as she turned towards me, I continued: “I know that in your generous heart you would save me if you could—that you would fain repay the debt you think you owe me—but that which I have done I have done without regret.” I would have said more, continued more, had I been able; but such a wondrous light was upon my lady’s face that I faltered and grew silent.
“Madam,” the general said after a moment’s pause, leaning forward and gazing into her eyes—the table only was between—“will you repeat those words?”
“I love him!” she answered simply. “I believe in him—I trust him!” she added slowly; and turning to the general, who had again resumed his seat, she added proudly: “My lord, you have my answer.”
“And yet,” the latter said after a moment’s pause, “after what you have said, madam—knowing me to be the arbiter of his fate—you can still ask me to spare his life?”
“It is for the very reason that I know what you are that I appeal now to your honour,” my lady answered passionately. “To no other man would I so plead.”