“Mademoiselle does not understand that I love her,” he retorted, unmoved. “Come, come, Rosaline, you are young, you are misguided, but you will be converted. Say the word; promise to be my wife, and your grandmother shall be saved, I pledge you my word.” “Beware, monsieur!” Rosaline exclaimed with scorn. “I have thought you a brave man, but this is the act of a coward.” His face reddened, and he suppressed the violence of his own mood with difficulty. “You forget,” he said slowly, “that you are completely in my power. You are a heretic by your own declaration, your grandmother is a prisoner, and the precious steward, d’Aguesseau, is also in my power.” His keen eyes saw the swift change in her face at d’Aguesseau’s name. “M. d’Aguesseau?” she exclaimed, “is he taken?” There was an expression of satisfaction in the keen blue eyes; he had touched her at last. “This morning, mademoiselle,” he replied coolly. “He is not only a heretic, but also a rebel.” She was controlling herself by a great effort. “What will you do with him, monsieur?” she asked faintly. “Hang him, or send him to the galleys,” he retorted calmly. She reeled, catching at the back of a chair to save herself from falling. M. de Baudri sprang toward her to proffer his assistance, but she motioned him away with a gesture of horror. “Do not touch me!” she cried; “do not touch me!” She laid her head down on the back of the chair, overcome with contending emotions. The two she loved best in the world had been taken from her. “_Mon Dieu!_” she cried in a choking voice; “what shall I do?” The fiercest passions leaped up into M. de Baudri’s eyes,--anger, jealousy, the desire for revenge; he had suspected that there was some secret between François and Rosaline, and now he doubted it no longer. “Mademoiselle is more afflicted at the capture of a menial than at the arrest of her own grandmother,” he remarked with a sneer. “Doubtless she would like to arrange for his liberation also.” Rosaline made no reply; she was summoning all her powers to meet this terrible emergency. “Even that is not beyond my power,” M. de Baudri added coolly, “if mademoiselle desires to purchase this--servant’s--liberty.” Rosaline looked up with a haggard face, but her eyes sparkled with anger. “François d’Aguesseau is no servant,” she cried; “he is as well born and far more noble than his persecutor!” The man laughed fiercely. “He is doubtless mademoiselle’s lover,” he remarked contemptuously; “she is more lightly won than I supposed.” “It is always in the power of the strong to insult the weak,” Rosaline retorted coldly. “You cannot deny that this heretic is your lover!” he exclaimed passionately. Rosaline raised her head proudly; her innocent gentleness had deserted her; she was like a young lioness roused in defence of her own.