“I cannot save him by the sacrifice you propose, Sire,” she rejoined, in tones of anguish. “Neither would he consent to be so saved.”
“You have avouched the truth, Constance,” exclaimed Osbert, springing through the open window, and placing himself between her and the King. “A thousand deaths rather than such a sacrifice.”
“My clemency, I find, is thrown away,” said Philip, haughtily. “Yet I will give you a few minutes for reflection. Perhaps your resolution may change.” And he moved towards the window.
“It is needless, Sire,” rejoined Osbert. “Our determination is taken.”
“Then prepare to part for ever,” said Philip, sternly. “As to you, audacious and insensate traitor, you shall learn whose anger you have braved. It will be small alleviation, methinks, to your imprisonment to know that your mistress is in my power.”
“Fear not the threat, Osbert,” said Constance. “I will never yield to him.”
“I do not ask your consent,” rejoined Philip, derisively. “You are caught in a net from which there is no escape.”
“Sooner than this shall be, my sword shall free the country from a tyrant,” cried Osbert, plucking his rapier from its sheath.
“Ha! do you dare to raise your hand against me, traitor?” exclaimed Philip, stepping towards him, while Constance flung her arms about her lover, so as to prevent any movement on his part.
“Let him go,” continued the King, after a pause, during which he sternly regarded the pair. “He wants the courage to play the assassin.”