ng to risk it." Then his voice softened. "Ah,
but I love you! 'Gabrielle, Gabrielle'! That name is the ebb and flow
of my heart's blood. Promise, Madame, promise; for I shall do as I
say. Will you enjoy the dungeon? I think not. Do not doubt that
there is an element of greatness in this heart of mine. With you as my
wife I shall become great; D'Halluys will be a name to live among those
of the great captains."

Madame locked her hands, her fingers twisting and untwisting . . . To
gain possession of that paper!

"How often I watched you in Paris," he went on, "wondering at first who
you were, and then, knowing, why you were not at court with your
brilliant mother. I have seen you so many times in the gardens, just
as twilight dissolved the brightness of day. I have often followed
you, but always at a respectful distance. And one night the happiness
was mine to meet you at the hotel of Monsieur le Comte. Oh! I know
perfectly well the rumors you have heard regarding certain exploits.
But remember, I have grown up in camps, and soldiers are neither
careful nor provident. Poverty dogged my footsteps; and we must live
how we can. No good woman has ever crossed my path to lighten its
shadows, to smooth its roughness. Environment is the mold that forms
the man. I am what circumstance has made me. You, Madame, can change
all this."

He leaned over the table, his eyes shining, his face glowing with love
which, though half lawless, was nevertheless the best that was in him.
Another woman might have marked the beauty on his face; but madame saw
only the power of it, the power which she hated and feared. Besides,
his love in no wise lessened his caution. His left hand was wound
tightly around the paper.

"Monsieur, you are without reason!"

"Love has crowded reason out."

"Your proposal is cruel and terrible."

"It is your angle of vision."

"I had thought to find peace and security; alas!"

"If I were positive that you loved some one else . . ." meditatively.

"Well?"

"I should hunt him out and kill him. There would then be no obstacle."

"You will do as you say: consign me to imprisonment or death?"

"As much as I love you. You have your choice."

"Give me but a day," she pleaded.

"Truthfully, I dare not."

"But this paper; I must see it!" wildly.

The vicomte's hand tightened. "I will place the paper in your hands on
the day of our marriage, unreservedly. You will then have the po