She was on her knees to me now, her arms clasping my boots, her eyes raised in entreaty--God, what entreaty!--to my own.
"Rise, mademoiselle, I beseech you," I said, with a quiet I was far from feeling. "There is no need for this. Let us be calm. The danger to your father is not so imminent. We may have some days yet--three or four, perhaps."
I lifted her gently and led her to a chair. I was hard put to it not to hold her supported in my arms. But I might not cull that advantage from her distress. A singular niceness, you will say, perhaps, as in your scorn you laugh at me. Perhaps you are right to laugh--yet are you not altogether right.
"You will go to Toulouse, monsieur?" she begged.
I took a turn in the room, then halting before her "Yes," I answered, "I will go."
The gratitude that leapt to her eyes smote me hard, for my sentence was unfinished.
"I will go," I continued quickly, "when you shall have promised to become my wife."
The joy passed from her face. She glanced at me a moment as if without understanding.
"I came to Lavedan to win you, Roxalanne, and from Lavedan I shall not stir until I have accomplished my design," I said very quietly. "You will therefore see that it rests with you how soon I may set out."
She fell to weeping softly, but answered nothing. At last I turned from her and moved towards the door.
"Where are you going?" she cried.
"To take the air, mademoiselle. If upon deliberation you can bring yourself to marry me, send me word by Anatole or one of the others, and I shall set out at once for Toulouse."
"Stop!" she cried. Obediently I stopped, my hand already upon the doorknob. "You are cruel, monsieur!" she complained.
"I love you," said I, by way of explaining it. "To be cruel seems to be the way of love. You have been cruel to me."
"Would you--would you take what is not freely given?"
"I have the hope that when you see that you must give, you will give freely."
"If--if I make you this promise--"
"Yes?" I was growing white with eagerness.
"You will fulfil your part of the bargain?"
"It is a habit of mine, mademoiselle--as witnesses the case of Chatellerault." She shivered at the mention of his name. It reminded her of precisely such another bargain that three nights ago she had made. Precisely, did I say? Well, not quite precisely.
"I--I promise to marry you, then," said she in a choking voice, "whenever you choose, after my father shall have been set at liberty."