"Still," the latter added, "allow me to say a couple of words to this lady;" and he pointed to Doña Clara, who, waited upon by Dame Tiphaine, who had hurried in at the disturbance in spite of her husband's entreaties and orders, was beginning to regain her senses. "No, not a word, not a syllable," the Duke exclaimed, as he threw himself between his daughter and the Count; "remove the villain, remove him." But the bailiff, pleased with the facility the Count had displayed in surrendering to him, and not wishing to excite his anger, pleased above all at being able to show his authority without incurring resistance, bravely interposed. "Pray, sir, allow the gentleman to speak to the lady," he said, "and to unburden his heart." "But this man is an assassin," the Duke shouted violently, "before us is still lying the corpse of my unhappy son, killed by him." "I pity you, sir," the myrmidon said without being at all affected; "I cannot offer any remedy for that; and you must make application in the proper quarter. Still, if it can be of any comfort to you, be convinced that I shall make a careful note of the accusation you bring, and will recall it to mind at the right time and place. But you must be equally eager to get rid of us, as we are to get away from here: hence allow this gentleman to bid farewell to the lady quietly, and I am convinced it will not take long." The Duke darted a ferocious glance at the bailiff; but, not wishing to compromise himself with such a fellow, he did not answer, and fell back with a gloomy air. The Count had watched this altercation without displaying either impatience or anger; with pale forehead and frowning brow, he waited, doubtless ready to break into some terrible extremity if his request were not granted. The bailiff only required to take one look at him to guess what was passing in his heart; and, not feeling at all anxious for a fresh contest to begin, he had prudently manoeuvred to avoid it. "Come," he said, "speak, my worthy gentleman, no one will oppose it." "Thanks," the Count answered hoarsely and approached Doña Clara, who watched him advance with an ardent gaze fixed on him. "Clara," he said to her in a firm and deeply marked voice, "do you love me?" She hesitated for a moment and bowed her head while heaving a profound sigh. "Do you love me?" he repeated. "I do love you, Ludovic," she replied in a faint and trembling voice. "Do you love me, as your husband before God and man, as the father of your child?" The young lady rose, her black eyes flashed fire, and stretching out her hands before her, she said in a voice choked by emotion-- "In the presence of my father, who is ready to curse me, before the body of my dead brother and in the face of the men who are listening to me, I swear, Ludovic, that I love you as the father of my child, and that I shall remain faithful to you, whatever may happen."