“I do,” replied Warthy. “I charge you with leaguing with the king's enemies, and I will bring proof of what I assert.” “I defy you to do so,” replied Saint-Vallier; “and if the combat be permitted me by his majesty, I will force you, at the point of the sword, to confess that you have accused me falsely.” “You must establish your innocence by other means than the combat,” rejoined the king. “You have long been Bourbon's confidential friend and adviser. You have been staying with him at the Château de Moulins. Is it not certain, then, that you must be privy to his designs?” “Presumption is no proof, sire,” said Saint-Vallier. “If the Constable de Bourbon has any such designs as your majesty attributes to him, he has carefully concealed them from me.” “You abuse my patience by these idle prevarications,” cried the king, angrily. “By an immediate avowal of your guilt, and by a disclosure of all you know respecting this conspiracy, you might merit my forgiveness.” “And think you, sire, that if I were leagued in such a plot, I would purchase safety by betraying my associates?” rejoined Saint-Vallier. “No, I would rather perish on the scaffold.” “Such will be your fate,” said the king, sternly. “But torture shall extort the truth from you.” “Oh! sire,” exclaimed Diane, again flinging herself at the king's feet, “do not have recourse to such terrible measures. Spare him the torture!--spare him!” “Let him confess his guilt, then--let him reveal all he knows regarding the plot,” rejoined François. “Torture will not force me to speak,” said Saint-Val-lier, resolutely. “I should be unworthy of the name I bear if I could betray iny friends. Cease to intercede for me, Diane,” he added to his daughter. “Remove the prisoners,” said François to Warthy, “and let them be taken with a strong escort to Paris, and lodged in the Conciergerie, there to be kept till commissioners shall be appointed for their trial by the Parliament.” “Sire,” said Diane, “I crave your majesty's permission to attend my unhappy father to Paris. My presence will be some consolation to him.” “I cannot grant your request, madame,” replied the king, in an inflexible tone. “You must remain here with the Comtesse de Châteaubriand, Take leave of your father, and let him depart.” Half distracted, Diane flung herself in her father's arms. While straining her to his breast, Saint-Vallier said, in a low voice: “Stay not here. Depart instantly for Normandy. Promise me this, and I shall die content.” “You shall not die, father,” she cried. “I will obtain your pardon. I will not cease to supplicate the king till he yields.” “I forbid it,” rejoined Saint-Vallier, authoritatively. “Obey me, as you would know peace hereafter.” Diane made no reply. Overcome by her emotion, she had swooned in his arms.