"Is there a hope?" Lecour said hoarsely, looking up with bloodshot eyes.
"Certainly, if you will do what I demand."
"Anything God will permit."
"The condition is this. That you make her with your own lips, in my presence, a confession of your imposture, of which, remember, I besides hold the proofs. Otherwise she dies to-morrow. Are you willing?" And the Admiral bent eagerly towards him with eyes full of flaming lights.
Lecour's heart stopped. His head flushed to bursting, the shame of years overcame him. His assent was expressed by more a groan than a word. The frightful thought was that she would repulse him for ever.
Yes, that too must be faced and done with—bitterness of bitterness. The old dream so marvellously won by deception must be shattered in every point. The Eternal Justice said to him: "No man who has profited by a wrong shall keep its fruits." Ah, what fruit of fruits, her love!
"It will finish him with her," the Admiral muttered, watching him. But Lecour did not hear. The Sans-culotte President rapped on the iron door with his boot, a turnkey replied, and in a few minutes four of these men appeared with Cyrène. As soon as she saw Germain she clasped her hands to her bosom and uttered a strange cry, a cry full of wild gladness and fierce agony, such as a soul writhing in the flames of purgatory might give at a sudden opening of the gates of both heaven and hell, and she sprang forward to press him to her breast.
Not such was the will of the Admiral. As quick as she, he interposed himself, and standing in front of Germain grasped her arm and said to her firmly—
"This fellow has something to say to you first."
Then, turning to Lecour, who stood with head down and feelings worse than those of his condemnation to death—