“I swear it,” she answered, “if you will give them to me! If you will give them to me,” she repeated. And she held out her hands; her face, full of passion, was bright with a strange light. A close observer might have thought her distraught; still excited by the struggle in the boat, and barely mistress of herself.
But the man whom she tempted, the man who held her price at his belt, after one searching look at her turned from her; perhaps because he could not trust himself to gaze on her. Count Hannibal walked a dozen paces from her and returned, and again a dozen paces and returned; and again a third time, with something fierce and passionate in his gait. At last he stopped before her.
“You have nothing to offer for them,” he said, in a cold, hard tone. “Nothing that is not mine already, nothing that is not my right, nothing that I cannot take at my will. My word?” he continued, seeing her about to interrupt him. “True, Madame, you have it, you had it. But why need I keep my word to you, who tempt me to break my word to the King?”
She made a weak gesture with her hands. Her head had sunk on her breast—she seemed dazed by the shock of his contempt, dazed by his reception of her offer.
“You saved the letters?” he continued, interpreting her action. “True, but the letters are mine, and that which you offer for them is mine also. You have nothing to offer. For the rest, Madame,” he went on, eyeing her cynically, “you surprise me! You, whose modesty and virtue are so great, would corrupt your husband, would sell yourself, would dishonour the love of which you boast so loudly, the love that only God gives!” He laughed derisively as he quoted her words. “Ay, and, after showing at how low a price you hold yourself, you still look, I doubt not, to me to respect you, and to keep my word. Madame!” in a terrible voice, “do not play with fire! You saved my letters, it is
