Could I tell him that I was Bardelys, the favourite of the King himself? What would have occurred? I ask you, mademoiselle. Would I not have been accounted a spy, and would they not have made short work of me here at your chateau?""No, no; they would have done no murder.""Perhaps not, but I could not be sure just then. Most men situated as your father was would have despatched me. Ah, mademoiselle, have you not proofs enough? Do you not believe me now?""Yes, monsieur," she answered simply, "I believe you.""Will you not believe, then, in the sincerity of my love?"She made no rely. Her face was averted, but from her silence I took heart. I drew close to her. I set my hand upon the tall back of her chair, and, leaning towards her, I spoke with passionate heat as must have melted, I thought, any woman who had not a loathing for me.
"Mademoiselle; I am a poor man now," I ended. "I am no longer that magnificent gentleman whose wealth and splendour were a byword. Yet am I no needy adventurer. I have a little property at Beaugency -a very spot for happiness, mademoiselle. Paris shall know me no more. At Beaugency I shall live at peace, in seclusion, and, so that you come with me, in such joy as in all my life I have done nothing to deserve. I have no longer an army of retainers. A couple of men and a maid or two shall constitute our household. Yet I shall account my wealth well lost if for love's sake you'll share with me the peace of my obscurity. I am poor, mademoiselle yet no poorer even now than that Gascon gentleman, Rene de Lesperon, for whom you held me, and on whom you bestowed the priceless treasure of your heart.""Oh, might it have pleased God that you had remained that poor Gascon gentleman!" she cried.
"In what am I different, Roxalanne?"
"In that he had laid no wager," she answered, rising suddenly.
My hopes were withering. She was not angry. She was pale, and her gentle face was troubled - dear God! how sorely troubled! To me it almost seemed that I had lost.
She flashed me a glance of her blue eyes, and I thought that tears impended.
"Roxalanne!" I supplicated.
But she recovered the control that for a moment she had appeared upon the verge of losing. She put forth her hand.
"Adieu, monsieur!" said she.
I glanced from her hand to her face. Her attitude began to anger me, for I saw that she was not only resisting me, but resisting herself.
In her heart the insidious canker of doubt persisted. She knew - or should have known - that it no longer should have any place there, yet obstinately she refrained from plucking it out. There was that wager. But for that same obstinacy she must have realized the reason of my arguments, the irrefutable logic of my payment. She denied me, and in denying me she denied herself, for that she had loved me she had herself told me, and that she could love me again I was assured, if she would but see the thing in the light of reason and of justice.
"Roxalanne, I did not come to Lavedan to say `Good-bye' to you. Iseek from you a welcome, not a dismissal.""Yet my dismissal is all that I can give. Will you not take my hand?
May we not part in friendly spirit?"
"No, we may not; for we do not part at all."It was as the steel of my determination striking upon the flint of hers. She looked up to my face for- an instant; she raised her eyebrows in deprecation; she sighed, shrugged one shoulder, and, turning on her heel, moved towards the door.
"Anatole shall bring you refreshment ere you go," she said in a very polite and formal voice.
Then I played my last card. Was it for nothing that I had flung away my wealth? If she would not give herself, by God, I would compel her to sell herself. And I took no shame in doing it, for by doing it I was saving her and saving myself from a life of unhappiness.
"Roxalanne!" I cried. The imperiousness of my voice arrested and compelled her perhaps against her very will.
"Monsieur?" said she, as demurely as you please.
"Do you know what you are doing?".
"But yes - perfectly."
"Pardieu, you do not. I will tell you. You are sending your father to the scaffold."She turned livid, her step faltered, and she leant against the frame of the doorway for support. Then she stared at me, wide-eyed in horror.
