“Be not unjust towards him, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “In Osbert’s place, you would have acted as he has acted. He loved me, and seeing the peril in which I stood, did not hesitate to deliver me.”
“And you have not proved ungrateful for the service,” retorted Philip, bitterly. “You have requited his devotion. The love refused to me has been bestowed freely on him.”
“Osbert’s love for me was not dishonourable, Sire,” she replied, “and in requiting it I committed no crime. I could not return your Majesty’s love without guilt. By this time the passion I was unhappy enough to inspire you with must have subsided, and you will view my conduct less harshly.”
“You are mistaken, Madam,” rejoined Philip, sternly. “I have never ceased to love you. I cannot regard you with indifference—even though you deserve that I should do so. You are necessary to my happiness. You must—you shall be mine.”
“Never!” exclaimed Constance, energetically.
“Hear me,” pursued the King; “you are now wholly in my power. Having found you, be assured I shall not part with you again. I am willing to excuse your conduct—to pardon your lover’s disobedience and deceit—nay, more, to continue my favour towards him—but this consideration on my part must be met by complaisance on yours.”
“I reject the proposal without a moment’s hesitation, Sire,” cried Constance, with scorn.
“Then mark what I have to say further,” rejoined Philip. “I repeat, you are wholly in my power. Nothing can deliver you. On your decision hangs your lover’s life. You—you will cause his immediate arrest—his imprisonment, torture—ay, torture—and death.”
“Oh, say not so, Sire!” she cried, all her firmness deserting her. “What has he done to deserve such barbarous treatment?”
“He has dared to disobey me,” rejoined Philip. “He has stepped between me and the object of my desires. But for your sake I am content to forego revenge—nay, to heap greater favours on his head. Will you cast him into a dungeon? Will you doom him to torture and death?”