“I do,” replied Warthy. “I charge you with leaguing with the king's enemies, and I will bring proof of what I assert.”
“I defy you to do so,” replied Saint-Vallier; “and if the combat be permitted me by his majesty, I will force you, at the point of the sword, to confess that you have accused me falsely.”
“You must establish your innocence by other means than the combat,” rejoined the king. “You have long been Bourbon's confidential friend and adviser. You have been staying with him at the Château de Moulins. Is it not certain, then, that you must be privy to his designs?”
“Presumption is no proof, sire,” said Saint-Vallier. “If the Constable de Bourbon has any such designs as your majesty attributes to him, he has carefully concealed them from me.”
“You abuse my patience by these idle prevarications,” cried the king, angrily. “By an immediate avowal of your guilt, and by a disclosure of all you know respecting this conspiracy, you might merit my forgiveness.”
“And think you, sire, that if I were leagued in such a plot, I would purchase safety by betraying my associates?” rejoined Saint-Vallier. “No, I would rather perish on the scaffold.”
“Such will be your fate,” said the king, sternly. “But torture shall extort the truth from you.”
“Oh! sire,” exclaimed Diane, again flinging herself at the king's feet, “do not have recourse to such terrible measures. Spare him the torture!—spare him!”
“Let him confess his guilt, then—let him reveal all he knows regarding the plot,” rejoined François.
“Torture will not force me to speak,” said Saint-Val-lier, resolutely. “I should be unworthy of the name I bear if I could betray iny friends. Cease to intercede for me, Diane,” he added to his daughter.