Notwithstanding the supplications and tears of the duchess, there was no symptom of yielding in Bourbon. With almost rudeness, he said, “Arise, madame. It is useless to prolong this interview. Farewell!”
“Stay, I command you, Charles de Bourbon,” she said, rousing all her dignity. “For a moment I had forgotten myself, but your barbarous conduct has restored me. Henceforward I will banish your image from my breast, or only retain it there to animate my vengeance. Your possessions shall be at once confiscated. I will make you a beggar, and then see if you can find a wife among the meanest of my court dames.”
“I shall not need to do so, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “Let it confound you to learn that the Emperor Charles V has offered me in marriage his sister Leanor, widow of the late King of Portugal.
“The Emperor has offered you his sister?” exclaimed the duchess. “It is false—it is false!”
“You will find it true, madame,” said Bourbon, with a contemptuous smile.
“You shall never wed her,” cried the duchess. “If you reject me, you shall wed no one else.”
“These threats are idle, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, scornfully. “I laugh at your impotent malice. You have wreaked your vengeance to the utmost. But you will never be able to subdue me to your will.”
“Traitor and villain, I see through your designs!” cried the duchess. “You meditate reprisals through the enemies of your country. But I will effectually crush you. If your treasonable practices be proved, I will have your head—ay, your head, Charles de Bourbon.”
“I have no fear for my head,” laughed Bourbon, disdainfully. “It is safe enough, even though I am in the king's palace at Fontainebleau.”
“A moment, Charles!” cried the duchess, suddenly relapsing into tenderness, and making an effort to detain him. “Are we to part thus?”