"Never, monsieur--oh, never!"
"I am older, child, than you are. I know. At present you are anxious to save his life anxious because you love him, and also because you betrayed him, and you would not have his death upon your conscience." He paused a moment; then raising his voice, "Mademoiselle," said he, "I offer you your lover's life."
"Monsieur, monsieur!" cried the poor child, "I knew you were good! I knew--"
"A moment! Do not misapprehend me. I do not say that I give it--I offer it."
"But the difference?"
"That if you would have it, mademoiselle, you must buy it. I have said that for you I would brave all dangers. To save your lover, I brave the scaffold. If I am betrayed, or if the story transpire, my head will assuredly fall in the place of Lesperon's. This I will risk, mademoiselle--I will do it gladly--if you will promise to become my wife when it is done."
There was a moan from Roxalanne, then silence; then--"Oh, monsieur, you are pitiless! What bargain is this that you offer me?"
"A fair one, surely," said that son of hell--"a very fair one. The risk of my life against your hand in marriage."
"If you--if you truly loved me as you say, monsieur," she reasoned, "you would serve me without asking guerdon."
"In any other thing I would. But is it fair to ask a man who is racked by love of you to place another in your arms, and that at the risk of his own life? Ah, mademoiselle, I am but a man, and I am subject to human weaknesses. If you will consent, this Lesperon shall go free, but you must see him no more; and I will carry my consideration so far as to give you six months in which to overcome your sorrow, ere I present myself to you again to urge my suit."
"And if I refuse, monsieur?"
He sighed.
"To the value which I set upon my life you must add my very human jealousy. From such a combination what can you hope for?"
"You mean, in short, that he must die?"
"To-morrow," was that infernal cheat's laconic answer.
They were silent a little while, then she fell a-sobbing.
"Be pitiful, monsieur! Have mercy if you, indeed, love me. Oh, he must not die! I cannot, I dare not, let him die! Save him, monsieur, and I will pray for you every night of my life; I will pray for you to our Holy Mother as I am now praying to you for him."
Lived there the man to resist that innocent, devout appeal? Lived there one who in answer to such gentle words of love and grief could obtrude his own coarse passions? It seems there did, for all he answered was "You know the price, child."