At that he glared at her, the veins of his forehead swelling suddenly. But after a seeming struggle with himself he put the insult by, perhaps for future reckoning and account.
“I did what I could,” he said sullenly. “Had I willed it he had died there and then in the room below. I gave him his life. If he has risked it anew and lost it, it is naught to me.”
“It was his life you gave me,” she repeated stubbornly. “His life—and the others. But that is not all,” she continued; “you promised me a minister.”
He nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this confirmed a suspicion he had entertained.
“Or a priest,” he said.
“No, a minister.”
“If one could be obtained. If not, a priest.”
“No, it was to be at my will; and I will a minister! I will a minister!” she cried passionately. “Show me M. de Tignonville alive, and bring me a minister of my faith, and I will keep my promise, M. de Tavannes. Have no fear of that. But otherwise, I will not.”
“You will not?” he cried. “You will not?”
“No!”