“You will readily divine my errand, sire,” cried Diane, throwing herself on her knees before him, in spite of his efforts to prevent her. “You know that my unfortunate father has been condemned by the Parliament to torture and to death by the headsman's hand. Have compassion on him, sire—spare him—for my sake!”
“Rise, Diane, and listen to me,” said François. “My heart prompts me to yield to your solicitations, but, were I to do so, my clemency would be misconstrued. The Comte de Saint-Vallier having been found guilty of lèse-majesté and rebellion by the solemn tribunal at which he has been placed, I am compelled to confirm the sentence passed upon him. Bourbon's revolt has steeled my breast to pity. Your father was the traitor's chief friend and counsellor.”
“As such, sire, he strove to dissuade the duke from his design,” she cried.
“The Parliament can have had no proof of that beyond your father's affirmation,” said the king. “On the contrary, they believe him to be deeper dyed in treason than the rest of the conspirators.”
“My father's judges have been unjust, sire,” she rejoined; “but I see it is in vain to convince you of his innocence. You are determined to wreak your vengeance upon him, in order that the blow may be felt by Bourbon. The answer you have given me is little in accordance with your former language.”
“You ask what I cannot grant, Diane. Why torture me thus?”
“I will torture you no more. Adieu, sire! I quit your presence never to re-enter it.”
“Stay, Diane,” he cried, detaining her. “I cannot part with you thus. You know how passionately I love you.”
“I find it impossible to reconcile your professions with your conduct, sire. As for myself, if I have ever felt love for you, I will tear it from my heart.”
“Then you confess that you have loved me, Diane? You never owned as much before. Nay, to speak truth, I fancied from the coldness of your manner that you were insensible to my passion.”