Pomperant had not been long alone, when the door of the cell again opened, and gave admittance to Marcelline. A sad greeting passed between them.
“I have striven to save you,” she said, in a voice half suffocated by emotion. “I have been to Renzo da Ceri, and have implored him, on my bended knees, to spare your life—but in vain. He will not even grant you the respite of an hour. All I could obtain was permission to hold this brief interview with you.”
“I thank him for the grace—it is more than I expected,” replied Pomperant, gazing at her with the deepest affection. “Oh! Marcelline, you have made life so dear to me that I grieve to lose it. But the thought that you love me will soothe the pangs of death.”
“It may console you to be assured that I will wed no other,” she rejoined. “I will be true to your memory—doubt it not. As soon as this siege is ended, I will enter a convent, and devote myself to Heaven.”
At this moment the priest entered the cell.
“Daughter,” said the good man, looking compassionately at her, “you must bid your lover an eternal farewell.”
“Oh no, no—do not say so, father!” she rejoined. “Grant me a few more minutes.”
“Alas, daughter, I have no power to comply with your request.”
“Nay, you must go, dear Mareelline,” said Pomperant. “Your presence will only unman me. Farewell for ever!”
Mareelline continued gazing passionately at her lover, while the priest drew her gently from the well.