in the Bastille,
the irons cutting into her delicate hands, those hands which I have so
fondly held within my own--the cold stones for her bed. Or, worse: The
block, the headsman and the jeering rabble. Have you no feeling, man?
Suppose there was some woman whom you loved--a guilty love, I
grant--but so strong, so deep, so overpowering, you could not master
it? Suppose _she_ were threatened, would you not protect her even if
you lost your life; yea, bartered away your honor?"

A pale little tearful face thrust itself before me as he spoke, and I
knew my own weak heart. I confess his pleading staggered me, and I
hesitated. He came closer; all the love and fear of a strong and
desperate man wove itself into his words.

"Could you only have seen her two hours ago when you left her chamber;
have heard her sobs, felt the tremble of her heart when she threw
herself, just as when a child she used to do, into my arms pleading for
protection! Those dispatches will ruin her. She so calm, so proud, so
brave to all the world, wept like a terrified baby upon my breast.
Placide, I'd die and go to hell to save her. She so cold and pure, her
very name is a reproach to this flock of butterfly women. This woman
loves me, loves me even though that love be what men call dishonor.
Bah! I hate the word. Her father never sold her heart. No, that was
mine, forever mine. Had I but foreseen this I'd have left you rotting
in Bertrand's dungeon. No, no. Placide, I meant it not; I'm not
myself; forgive me, comrade; pity her and pity me."

I vaguely wondered what there could be in the packet to cause him so
sincere an apprehension. But I must think of my people and be strong.
I denied him once for all. He sprang at me with the fury of a demon.
Being the cooler and stronger, I threw him off easily and reached the
door as he came again with his sword. It was a delicate predicament.
I could easily kill him. Wild with a lover's fear, he left his front
open to my blade, but I'd had enough of death. He paused to shove a
table from his path, which gave me time to open and slip through the
door.

In a moment he rushed out behind me, pale and panting. The corridor,
deserted, echoed to our flying steps. I ran on ahead making my way
toward the horses. Meeting people outside, we had to slacken our gait,
smile, and conceal the realities of the situation, the necessity for
which he apprehended as quickly as I.

Four horses stood ready