"Well, well," replied the former, again smiling; "but you can have no doubt that she at least will regret your death. She loved you too well not to deplore your fate."
"Did she?" exclaimed Chatelard, eagerly, and with such a look of inquiry and doubt as greatly disappointed the asserter. "You know who I mean, then; but how know ye that which you have just now said? Assure me that ye speak true, Choisseul, and I shall die happy."
"Ah, bah! you know it yourself, my friend, better than I," replied the latter. "No use in concealing it now," he added, with an intelligent look.
"Concealing what, sir?" said Chatelard, in a tone of mingled surprise and displeasure.
"Why, the affection the queen entertained for you," replied Choisseul. "We all know, my friend, you would not have done what you did, had she not encouraged your addresses. And I'll tell you what, Chatelard," he went on, "I have reason to believe that your life would yet be spared, if you would only show that this was so."
"Ah, I understand you," said Chatelard, with suppressed passion. "If I will accuse the queen—if I will put her in the power of her enemies—her enemies will be obliged to me. In other words, I may save my life by sacrificing her reputation; and it would be little matter whether what I said should be true or not. Is it not so, Choisseul?" Then, without waiting for an answer—"Villain, devil that thou art," he exclaimed, now suddenly giving full swing to the passion that had been raised within him, "how hast thou dared to come to me with such an infamous proposal as this? Didst think, most dastardly knave, that my soul was as mean as thine own? Begone, begone, ruffian! Thy presence, thy breath, pollutes my dungeon more than the fetid damps that exhale from its walls—more than the noxious reptiles that crawl on its floor. Begone! begone, I say!" And he seized the now trembling caitiff by the throat, and dashed him against the door of the cell, with a violence that instantly brought in the guards who were stationed on the outside. These, seeing how matters stood, hurried Choisseul out of the dungeon, and again secured the door on its unfortunate inmate.
On leaving Chatelard, Choisseul repaired to the Earl of Murray, but with infinitely less confidence in his looks and manner than on the former occasion when his villany had been successful. To the earl he detailed the particulars of his interview with Chatelard; not forgetting to mention the rough treatment he had received from the infuriated poet.
"Then he'll confess nothing, Choisseul?" said Murray, when the former had done speaking.
"Not anything at all, my lor'. Dere is no hope; for he make no more of dying than I do of taking vone leetle pinch of snuff."
"Obstinate fool," exclaimed the earl, evidently chagrined and disappointed. "Let him die, then! You may retire, Choisseul," he abruptly added.