He sighed.
“To the value which I set upon my life you must add my very human jealousy. From such a combination what can you hope for?”
“You mean, in short, that he must die?”
“To-morrow,” was that infernal cheat's laconic answer.
They were silent a little while, then she fell a-sobbing.
“Be pitiful, monsieur! Have mercy if you, indeed, love me. Oh, he must not die! I cannot, I dare not, let him die! Save him, monsieur, and I will pray for you every night of my life; I will pray for you to our Holy Mother as I am now praying to you for him.”
Lived there the man to resist that innocent, devout appeal? Lived there one who in answer to such gentle words of love and grief could obtrude his own coarse passions? It seems there did, for all he answered was “You know the price, child.”
“And God pity me! I must pay it. I must, for if he dies I shall have his blood upon my conscience!” Then she checked her grief, and her voice grew almost stern in the restraint she set upon herself. “If I give you my promise to wed you hereafter—say in six months' time—what proof will you afford me that he who is detained under the name of Lesperon shall go free?”
I caught the sound of something very like a gasp from the Count.
“Remain in Toulouse until to-morrow, and to-night ere he departs he shall come to take his leave of you. Are you content?”