"I have to think of
you."
"And I of them," she answered firmly. "Nor is that all. Were they not
here, it could not be. My word is passed--though a moment ago, Monsieur,
in the joy of seeing you I forgot it. And how," she continued, "if I
keep not my word, can I expect him to keep his? Or how, if I am ready to
break the bond, on this happening which I never expected, can I hold him
to conditions which he loves as little--as little as I love him?"
Her voice dropped piteously on the last words; her eyes, craving her
lover's pardon, sought his. But rage, not pity or admiration, was the
feeling roused in Tignonville's breast. He stood staring at her, struck
dumb by folly so immense. At last--
"You cannot mean this," he blurted out. "You cannot mean, Mademoiselle,
that you intend to stand on that! To keep a promise wrung from you by
force, by treachery, in the midst of such horrors as he and his have
brought upon us! It is inconceivable!"
She shook her head. "I promised," she said.
"You were forced to it."
"But the promise saved our lives."
"From murderers! From assassins!" he protested.
She shook her head. "I cannot go back," she said firmly; "I cannot."
"Then you are willing to marry him," he cried in ignoble anger. "That is
it! Nay, you must wish to marry him! For, as for his conditions,
Mademoiselle," the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, "you
cannot think seriously of them.
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