Philip remained inflexible.
“Calm yourself, Constance,” said Osbert. “I heed not what may happen to myself. My sole distress is in leaving you.”
“Fear nothing on my account,” she rejoined, in a low tone. “Heaven will protect me. Yet I will make one last effort to save you. Oh, Sire,” she added, approaching the King, “as you are great and powerful, be generous and merciful. Forgive him. He will offend no more. I am the cause of his disobedience. When I am gone he will be faithful as ever.”
“On one condition I will spare him,” said Philip, in a low tone.
“I dare not ask your Majesty what that condition is?” rejoined Constance, trembling.
“You may easily guess it,” returned Philip. “Be mine.”
“Then all hope is over,” sighed Constance. “I will die rather than assent.”
“So you think now,” muttered Philip; “but I will find means to shake your stubbornness. Take hence the prisoners,” he added aloud to Rodomont.
“I am equally guilty—if guilt there be,” cried Constance, with a loud voice. “I take all present to witness that I utterly reject the doctrines of the Romish Church, and hold its ceremonies to be vain, superfluous, superstitious, and abominable.”
“Be silent, imprudent girl,” cried Philip.