“No, a minister.”
“If one could be obtained. If not, a priest.”
“No, it was to be at my will; and I will a minister! I will a minister!” she cried passionately. “Show me M. de Tignonville alive, and bring me a minister of my faith, and I will keep my promise, M. de Tavannes. Have no fear of that. But otherwise, I will not.”
“You will not?” he cried. “You will not?”
“No!”
“You will not marry me?”
“No!”
The moment she had said it fear seized her, and she could have fled from him, screaming. The flash of his eyes, the sudden passion of his face, burned themselves into her memory. She thought for a second that he would spring on her and strike her down. Yet though the women behind her held their breath, she faced him, and did not quail; and to that, she fancied, she owed it that he controlled himself.
“You will not?” he repeated, as if he could not understand such resistance to his will—as if he could not credit his ears. “You will not?” But after that, when he had said it three times, he laughed; a laugh, however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood.
You bargain, do you?” he said. “You will have the last tittle of the price, will you? And have thought of this and that to put me off, and to gain time until your lover, who is all to you, comes to save you? Oh, clever girl! clever! But have you thought where you stand—woman? Do you know that if I gave the word to my people they would treat you as the commonest baggage that tramps the Froidmantel? Do you know that it rests with me to save you, or to throw you to the wolves whose ravening you hear?” And he pointed to the window. “Minister? Priest?” he continued grimly. “Mon Dieu,
