"I would rather die!" Mademoiselle moaned, her face covered. "I would
rather die!"
"And see him die?" he answered quietly. "And see these die? Think,
think, child!"
"You will not do it!" she gasped. She shook from head to foot.
"I shall do nothing," he answered firmly. "I shall but leave you to your
fate, and these to theirs. In the King's teeth I dare save my wife and
her people; but no others. You must choose--and quickly."
One of the frightened women--it was Mademoiselle's tiring-maid, a girl
called Javette--made a movement, as if to throw herself at her mistress's
feet. Tignonville drove her to her place with a word. He turned to
Count Hannibal.
"But, M. le Comte," he said, "you must be mad! Mad, to wish to marry her
in this way! You do not love her. You do not want her. What is she to
you more than other women?"
"What is she to you more than other women?" Tavannes retorted, in a tone
so sharp and incisive that Tignonville started, and a faint touch of
colour crept into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, the
prize of the contest. "What is she more to you than other women? Is she
more? And yet--you want her!"
"She is more to me," Tignonville answered.
"Is she?" the other retorted, with a ring of keen meaning. "Is she? But
we bandy words and the storm is rising, as I warned you it would rise.
Enough for you that I do want her. Enough for you that I will have
her. She shall be the wife, the willing wife, of Hannibal de Tavannes--or
I leave her to her fate, and you to yours!"
"Ah, God!" she moaned. "The willing wife!"
"Ay, Mademoiselle, the willing wife," he answered sternly. "Or no man's
wife!"