And her chin sank on her breast.
"You will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. And his tone
and the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "Bethink you! 'Tis
your rights now, and your terms, Mademoiselle! And then it will be only
my mercy--Madame."
"I am content," she muttered faintly.
"And the Lord have mercy on my soul, is what you would add," he retorted,
"so much trust have you in my mercy! And you are right! You are right,
since you have played this trick on me. But as you will. If you will
have it so, have it so! You shall stand on your conditions now; you
shall have your pennyweight and full advantage, and the rigour of the
pact. But afterwards--afterwards, Madame de Tavannes--"
He did not finish his sentence, for at the first word which granted her
petition, Mademoiselle had sunk down on the low wooden window-seat beside
which she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, her face hidden
on her arms, had burst into violent weeping. Her hair, hastily knotted
up in the hurry of the previous night, hung in a thick plait to the curve
of her waist; the nape of her neck showed beside it milk-white. The man
stood awhile contemplating her in silence, his gloomy eyes watching the
pitiful movement of her shoulders, the convulsive heaving of her figure.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149