“Go!” she bade him, her voice harsh for once. “Out of my sight! Go! Do your worst, so that you leave me. I’ll hold no traffic with you.”
“Will you not?” said he, through setting teeth, and suddenly he caught the wrist of that outstretched arm. But she saw nothing of immediate danger. The only danger that she knew was the danger that threatened Florimond, and little did that matter since at midnight she was to leave Condillac to reach La Rochette in time to warn her betrothed. The knowledge gave her confidence and an added courage.
“You have offered me your bargain,” she told him. “You have named your price and you have heard my refusal. Now go.”
“Not yet awhile,” said he, in a voice so odiously sweet that Garnache caught his breath.
He drew her towards him. Despite her wild struggles he held her fast against his breast. Do what she would, he rained his hot kisses on her face and hair, till at last, freeing a hand, she smote him with all her might across the face.
He let her go then. He fell back with an oath, a patch of fingermarks showing red on his white countenance.
“That blow has killed Florimond de Condillac,” he told her viciously. “He dies at noon to-morrow. Ponder it, my pretty.”
“I care not what you do so that you leave me,” she answered defiantly, restraining by a brave effort the tears of angry distress that welled up from her stricken heart. And no less stricken, no less angry was Garnache where he listened. It was by an effort that he had restrained himself from bursting in upon them when Marius had seized her. The reflection that were he to do so all would irretrievably be ruined alone had stayed him.
Marius eyed the girl a moment, his face distorted by the rage that was in him.
“By God!” he swore, “if I cannot have your love, I’ll give you cause enough to hate me.”