of vengeance are not light."

"If I went in fear of vengeance, my child, I should never pass an easy
moment. I have learned how to evade it,--or, better still, to turn it
back on those who would inflict it. I fear nobody. When the game is not
worth the risk, one can always run away, as I did from Lavardin when the
Count's death threw his men into a panic."

"Good God!" I cried, giving way to my feelings; "what will move you,
then? What do you wish me to do? Shall I humiliate myself to plead for
my life? shall I beg mercy? If I must descend to that, I will do so."

For you will remember another life than mine was staked upon my fate,
and time was flying. How long could she endure without food, without
drink, without renewal of air, in that locked-up place of darkness?

"Mercy, I beg," I cried, in a voice broken by fears for her.

"You have hit upon the right way, at last," said the Captain, and my
heart bounded in spite of his continued irony of voice and manner. "You
beg for mercy, you shall have it. I will give you your life, and your
liberty as well: on your part, you will tell me where the Countess de
Lavardin is; as soon as I have made sure you have told the truth, I will
set you free."

I gazed at him in silence.

"Is not that merciful?" said he; "a full pardon for all your affronts
and offences, in return for a trifling piece of information?"

"It is a piece of information I cannot give you," I replied.

"It is a waste of time and words to try to deceive me," said the red
Captain. "A young gentleman who risks so much for a lady as you have
done, and accomplishes so much for her,--yes, they were wonders of
prowess and courage, I admit, and I compliment you upon them,--a young
gentleman who does all that for a lady does not so soon lose knowledge
of her whereabouts. Do not trifle with me, Monsieur. Where is the
Countess? There is no other way by which you can save yourself."

"Do you think, then, a man who has shown the courage and prowess you
mention, for the sake of a lady, would save himself by betraying her?"

"Oh, you are young, and may have many years before you--a life of great
success and honour. There are other beautiful ladies in the world. In a
very short time you can forget this one."

"I think it is for you to forget her," said I on the impulse. "As for
me, I would rather die!"

Ah, yes, it was easy enough to die, if that were all: but to leave her
to die, and in such a manner, was another