he looked at the point of his sword, and then he looked through the leaves at the Princess.
"I cannot do more than say that if you will live, I will forgive. And we will forget."
"By heaven, no," he whispered. "If I must forget to be forgiven, then I will remember and be unforgiven."
The faintest laugh reached him from among the foliage.
"Then I will forget, and you shall be forgiven," said she.
The Marquis put up his hand, and held a leaf aside, and he said again:
"I cannot believe myself forgiven. Is there no token of forgiveness?"
"Pray, my lord, do not put the leaves aside."
"I still must die, unless I have sure warrant of forgiveness."
"Ah, you try to make me think that!"
"By heaven, it is true!" And again he pointed his sword at his heart, and he swore on his honour that unless she gave him a token he would still kill himself.
"Oh," said the Princess with great petulance, "I wish I had not come!"
"Then I should have been dead by now—dead, unforgiven."
