I had evidence of that: evidence also of Monsieur de Merri's unfortunate habit of boasting of conquests. But I was convinced that it could not have been of her that he had boasted. These thoughts, however, were but transient flashings across my sense of the plight in which I had put this unhappy woman by killing Monsieur de Merri. I tried to minimize that plight.
"But your fears are exaggerated. Your husband will not dare go too far."
"He will dare take my life—or lock me up for the rest of my days in a dungeon—or I know not what. He is all-powerful on his estate—lord of life and death. You know what these great noblemen do when they believe their wives unfaithful. I have heard how the Prince de Condé—"
"Yes; but the Count de Lavardin would have your relations to fear."
"I have no relations. I was an orphan in a convent. The Count took a fancy to my face, they told me. They urged me to consent to the marriage. I could not displease them—I had never disobeyed them. And now this is the end. Well, I am in the hands of God." She glanced upwards and gave a sigh of bitter resignation.
"But after all," I interposed, "you are not certain how your husband will act."
"He has threatened the worst vengeance if I cannot clear myself to-morrow. If you knew him, Monsieur!"
"He allowed you a week, you say.—"
"From the day he accused me—last Saturday."
"And what facilities did he give you for the purpose?"