“Who knows,” thought he, “whether a count’s coronet wouldn’t please her as well as that of her lost marquis? Montauran is as lean as a nail, while I--” and he looked himself over with an air of satisfaction. “At any rate I should save my head.” These diplomatic revelations were wasted. The passion the count proposed to feign for Mademoiselle de Verneuil became a violent caprice, which the dangerous creature did her best to heighten. “Monsieur le comte,” she said, “you are my prisoner, and I have the right to dispose of you. Your execution cannot take place without my consent, and I have too much curiosity to let them shoot you at present.” “And suppose I am obstinate enough to keep silence?” he replied gaily. “With an honest woman, perhaps, but with a woman of the town, no, no, monsieur le comte, impossible!” These words, full of bitter sarcasm, were hissed, as Sully says, in speaking of the Duchesse de Beaufort, from so sharp a beak that the count, amazed, merely looked at his antagonist. “But,” she continued, with a scornful glance, “not to contradict you, if I am a creature of that kind I will act like one. Here is your gun,” and she offered him his weapon with a mocking air. “On the honor of a gentleman, mademoiselle--” “Ah!” she said, interrupting him, “I have had enough of the honor of gentlemen. It was on the faith of that that I went to La Vivetiere. Your leader had sworn to me that I and my escort should be safe there.” “What an infamy!” cried Hulot, contracting his brows. “The fault lies with monsieur le comte,” said Marie, addressing Hulot. “I have no doubt the Gars meant to keep his word, but this gentleman told some calumny about me which confirmed those that Charette’s mistress had already invented--” “Mademoiselle,” said the count, much troubled, “with my head under the axe I would swear that I said nothing but the truth.” “In saying what?” “That you were the--” “Say the word, mistress of--” “The Marquis de Lenoncourt, the present duke, a friend of mine,” replied the count. “Now I can let you go to execution,” she said, without seeming at all agitated by the outspoken reply of the count, who was amazed at the real or pretended indifference with which she heard his statement. “However,” she added, laughing, “you have not wronged me more than that friend of whom you suppose me to have been the--Fie! monsieur le comte; surely you used to visit my father, the Duc de Verneuil? Yes? well then--” Evidently considering Hulot one too many for the confidence she was about to make, Mademoiselle de Verneuil motioned the count to her side, and said a few words in her ear. Monsieur de Bauvan gave a low ejaculation of surprise and looked with bewilderment at Marie, who completed the effect of her words by leaning against the chimney in the artless and innocent attitude of a child. “Mademoiselle,” cried the count, “I entreat your forgiveness, unworthy as I am of it.”