He leaned over the table, his eyes shining, his face glowing with love
which, though half lawless, was nevertheless the best that was in him.
Another woman might have marked the beauty on his face; but madame saw
only the power of it, the power which she hated and feared. Besides,
his love in no wise lessened his caution. His left hand was wound
tightly around the paper.
"Monsieur, you are without reason!"
"Love has crowded reason out."
"Your proposal is cruel and terrible."
"It is your angle of vision."
"I had thought to find peace and security; alas!"
"If I were positive that you loved some one else . . ." meditatively.
"Well?"
"I should hunt him out and kill him. There would then be no obstacle."
"You will do as you say: consign me to imprisonment or death?"
"As much as I love you. You have your choice."
"Give me but a day," she pleaded.
"Truthfully, I dare not."
"But this paper; I must see it!" wildly.
The vicomte's hand tightened. "I will place the paper in your hands on
the day of our marriage, unreservedly. You will then have the power to
commit me, if so you will. Come, Madame; it grows on toward night.
Which is it to be? A Montbazon's word is as good as a king's louis."
"Once it has been given!"
As a cat leaps, as the shadow of a bird passes, madame's hand flew out
and grasped the projecting end of the paper. The short struggle was
nothing; the red marks on her wrists were painless. Swiftly she rose
and stepped, back, breathing quickly but with triumph. He made as
though to leap, but in that moment she had smoothed out the crumpled
paper. A glance, and it fluttered to the table. Her laughter was very
close to tears.
"Monsieur le Vicomte, what a clever wooer you are!" She fled toward the
door, opened it, and was gone.
The vicomte sat down.
"Truly, that woman must be mine!"
He took up the paper, smoothed it, and laughed. The paper was totally
blank.