“Yes, you! Nay, why fence with me?” he continued gently. “You knew it, you have said it. You have read it in my eyes these seven days.”
She did not speak, or move, or seem to breathe. As he said, she had foreseen, she had known the answer. But Tignonville, it seemed, had not. He sprang to his feet.
“M. de Tavannes,” he cried, “you are a villain!”
“Monsieur?”
“You are a villain! But you shall pay for this!” the young man continued vehemently. “You shall not leave this room alive! You shall pay for this insult!”
“Insult?” Tavannes answered in apparent surprise; and then, as if comprehension broke upon him, “Ah! Monsieur mistakes me,” he said, with a broad sweep of the hand. “And Mademoiselle also, perhaps? Oh! be content, she shall have bell, book, and candle; she shall be tied as tight as Holy Church can tie her! Or, if she please, and one survive, she shall have a priest of her own church—you call it a church? She shall have whichever of the two will serve her better. ’Tis one to me! But for paying me, Monsieur,” he continued, with irony in voice and manner; “when, I pray you? In Eternity? For if you refuse my offer, you have done with time. Now? I have but to sound this whistle”—he touched a silver whistle which hung at his breast—“and there are those within hearing will do your business before you make two passes. Dismiss the notion, sir, and understand. You are in my power. Paris runs with blood, as noble as yours, as innocent as hers. If you would not perish with the rest, decide! And quickly! For what you have seen are but the forerunners, what you have heard are but the gentle whispers that predict the gale. Do not parley too long; so long that even I may no longer save you.”
“I would rather die!” Mademoiselle moaned, her face covered. “I would rather die!”
