“Hush! hush!” said Isabelle “for your own sake—for mine—be silent on such a theme. Tell me rather what it is you have to ask of me.”
“Forgiveness to one,” replied Quentin, “who, for his own selfish views, hath conducted himself as your enemy.”
“I trust I forgive all my enemies,” answered Isabelle; “but oh, Durward! through what scenes have your courage and presence of mind protected me!—Yonder bloody hall—the good Bishop—I knew not till yesterday half the horrors I had unconsciously witnessed!”
“Do not think on them,” said Quentin, who saw the transient colour which had come to her cheek during their conference fast fading into the most deadly paleness.—“Do not look back, but look steadily forward, as they needs must who walk in a perilous road. Hearken to me. King Louis deserves nothing better at your hand, of all others; than to be proclaimed the wily and insidious politician which he really is. But to tax him as the encourager of your flight—still more as the author of a plan to throw you into the hands of De la Marck—will at this moment produce perhaps the King's death or dethronement; and, at all events, the most bloody war between France and Burgundy which the two countries have ever been engaged in.”
“These evils shall not arrive for my sake, if they can be prevented,” said the Countess Isabelle; “and indeed your slightest request were enough to make me forego my revenge, were that at any time a passion which I deeply cherish. Is it possible I would rather remember King Louis's injuries than your invaluable services?—Yet how is this to be?—When I am called before my Sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy, I must either stand silent or speak the truth. The former would be contumacy; and to a false tale you will not desire me to train my tongue.”
“Surely not,” said Durward; “but let your evidence concerning Louis be confined to what you yourself positively know to be truth; and when you mention what others have reported, no matter how credibly, let it be as reports only, and beware of pledging your own personal evidence to that, which, though you may fully believe, you cannot personally know to be true. The assembled Council of Burgundy cannot refuse to a monarch the justice which in my country is rendered to the meanest person under accusation. They must esteem him innocent, until direct and sufficient proof shall demonstrate his guilt. Now, what does not consist with your own certain knowledge, should be proved by other evidence than your report from hearsay.”
“I think I understand you,” said the Countess Isabelle.
“I will make my meaning plainer,” said Quentin; and was illustrating it accordingly by more than one instance when the convent bell tolled.
“That,” said the Countess, “is a signal that we must part—part for ever!—But do not forget me, Durward; I will never forget you—your faithful services—”
She could not speak more, but again extended her hand, which was again pressed to his lips; and I know not how it was, that, in endeavouring to withdraw her hand, the Countess came so close to the grating that Quentin was encouraged to press the adieu on her lips. The young lady did not chide him—perhaps there was no time; for Crevecoeur and Crawford, who had been from some loophole eye witnesses if not ear witnesses, also, of what was passing, rushed into the apartment, the first in a towering passion, the latter laughing, and holding the Count back.