I looked at him in renewed astonishment, in wonder, in stupefaction; asking myself a hundred questions. Why did he stoop to bargain, who could command? Why did he condescend to treat, who held me at his mercy? Why did he gravely discuss my aspirations, to whom they must seem the rankest presumption? Why?--but I could not follow it. I stood looking at him in silence; in perplexity as great as if he had offered me the Crown of France; in amazement and doubt and suspicion that knew no bounds. ‘Well!’ he said at last, misreading the emotion which appeared in my face. ‘You consent, sir?’ ‘Never!’ I answered firmly. He started. ‘I think I cannot have heard you aright,’ he said, speaking slowly and almost courteously. ‘I offer you a great place and my patronage, M. de Marsac. Do I understand that you prefer a prison and my enmity?’ ‘On those conditions,’ I answered. ‘Think, think!’ he said harshly. ‘I have thought,’ I answered. ‘Ay, but have you thought where you are?’ he retorted. ‘Have you thought how many obstacles lie between you and this little fool? How many persons you must win over, how many friends you must gain? Have you thought what it will be to have me against you in this, or which of us is more likely to win in the end?’ ‘I have thought,’ I rejoined. But my voice shook, my lips were dry. The room had grown dark. The rock outside, intercepting the light, gave it already the air of a dungeon. Though I did not dream of yielding to him, though I even felt that in this interview he had descended to my level, and I had had the better of him, I felt my heart sink. For I remembered how men immured in prisons drag out their lives always petitioning, always forgotten; how wearily the days go, that to free men are bright with hope and ambition. And I saw in a flash what it would be to remain here, or in some such place; never to cross horse again, or breathe the free air of Heaven, never to hear the clink of sword against stirrup, or the rich tones of M. d’Agen’s voice calling for his friend! I expected M. de Turenne to go when I had made my answer, or else to fall into such a rage as opposition is apt to cause in those who seldom encounter it. To my surprise, however, he restrained himself. ‘Come,’ he said, with patience which fairly astonished me, and so much the more as chagrin was clearly marked in his voice, ‘I know where you put your trust. You think the King of Navarre will protect you. Well, I pledge you the honour of Turenne that he will not; that the King of Navarre will do nothing to save you. Now, what do you say?’ ‘As I said before,’ I answered doggedly. He took up the parchment from the table with a grim laugh. ‘So much the worse for you then!’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘So much the worse for you! I took you for a rogue! It seems you are a fool!’ CHAPTER XXXVI. ‘VIVE LE ROI!’