“’Tis a pretty plot for a gentleman!”
“Mademoiselle, to my sorrow and regret, I acknowledge it. Yet I beg to assure you that not even the fear of imprisonment or death would have made me consent, had I not believed that I was doing a lady a service.”
“Do you think you do any lady a service by forcing her into the arms of Marquis du Trémigon?”
“But if she loves him?”
“Monsieur,” she said hotly, “she hates him!”
“Is it possible?”
“You have been grossly deceived. The only consent necessary to the marriage is my own. My grandfather has not withheld his consent. He has left it entirely to me.”
“You, Mademoiselle?” I exclaimed, my heart leaping at the thought that she did not love that villain.
“I have refused and shall refuse. The whole plan is an attempt to compromise me, to force my consent.”
Into what a scheme had I been betrayed! The sweat rose to my forehead.