She knew that by the movement which fear had forced from her she had
jeopardized everything. That she stood to lose all and more than all
which she had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less brave, of a
spirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been glad to
escape so. But this woman, though her bloodless face showed that she
knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was indeed sick
with terror, held her ground at the point to which she had retreated. She
played her last card.
"To what do I trust?" she muttered with trembling lips.
"Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered between his teeth. "To what do you
trust--that you play with Tavannes?"
"To his honour, Monsieur," she answered faintly. "And to your promise."
He looked at her with his mocking smile. "And yet," he sneered, "you
thought a moment ago that I should strike you. You thought that I should
beat you! And now it is my honour and my promise! Oh, clever, clever,
Mademoiselle! 'Tis so that women make fools of men. I knew that
something of this kind was on foot when you sent for me, for I know women
and their ways. But, let me tell you, it is an ill time to speak of
honour when the streets are red! And of promises when the King's word is
'No faith with a heretic!'"
"Yet you will keep yours," she said bravely.
He did not answer at once, and hope which was almost dead in her breast
began to recover; nay, presently sprang up erect. For the man hesitated,
it was evident; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomy eyes; an
observer might have fancied that he traced pain as well as doubt in his
face. At last-"There is a thing," he said slowly and with a sort of glare at her,
"which, it may be, you have not reckoned. You press me now, and will
stand on your terms and your conditions, your ifs and your unlesses!
You will have the most from me, and the bargain and a little beside the
bargain! But I would have you think if you are wise. Bethink you how it
will be between us when you are my wife--if you press me so now,
Mademoiselle. How will it sweeten things then? How will it soften them?
And to what, I pray you, will you trust for fair treatment then, if you
will be so against me now?"
She shuddered. "To the mercy of my husband," she said in a low voice.
And her chin sank on her breast.
"You will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. And his tone
and the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "Bethink you! 'Tis
your rights now, and your terms, Mademoiselle! And then it will be only
my mercy--Madame."