“These were not your sentiments when we first met,” rejoined Pomperant. “You and your brother were then devoted to Bourbon.”
“My brother is still devoted to him,” she said. “Nay more, he is condemned to death by the Parliament of Paris for the share he has taken in the conspiracy, and if he had not fled, the sentence would have been executed. But I have changed. Sinee I have been in Marseilles, and have discoursed with these loyal and patriotic citizens, I have imbibed their opinions.”
“You are wrong,” rejoined Pomperant. “Marseilles will be far happier and more prosperous under Bourbon's rule than under that of François de Valois. A day will come—and that shortly—when Bourbon's name will be as much honoured in this city as it is now execrated.”
“Heaven grant he may never enter Marseilles as a conqueror!” exclaimed Marcelline, fervently.
“Be not deceived, Mareelline. He will never retire till he has taken the city, and it cannot hold out long.”
“You are mistaken,” she cried, energetically. “It will hold out till it is relieved by the king. But if its fall should be inevitable, it is the fixed determination of the citizens to burn it to the ground rather than Bourbon shall possess it, I have vowed to kill myself rather than full into the hands of his ruthless soldiery.”
“Your fears are groundless, I repeat,” said Pomperant; “but if you have such apprehensions, why do you not leave the city? The port is open. You can easily gain the fleet.”
“I have promised Marphise to remain here to the last, and I shall keep my word,” she rejoined.
“Then I will stay and guard you,” he said. “Oh, Marcelline! let not these differences separate us. I love you not the less devotedly because of your loyalty to François de Valois, Do not hate me for my attachment to Bourbon.”
“But I am bound to regard you as a traitor,” she rejoined.