“Stay, Diane,” he cried, detaining her. “I cannot part with you thus. You know how passionately I love you.” “I find it impossible to reconcile your professions with your conduct, sire. As for myself, if I have ever felt love for you, I will tear it from my heart.” “Then you confess that you have loved me, Diane? You never owned as much before. Nay, to speak truth, I fancied from the coldness of your manner that you were insensible to my passion.” “It matters little now what my feelings have been towards you, sire,” she rejoined. “But if it will pain you to know the truth, I will not hide it. I _did_ love you--love you passionately. But I hate you now--ay, hate you as a tyrant.” “No, no, you do not, cannot hate me,” he cried. “It is impossible to resist your influence. You have conquered. I yield,” he added, kneeling to her. “Say that you love me still, and I will grant your request.” “Your majesty has already extorted the avowal from me,” she rejoined. “I thought you had crushed the feeling, but I find it still survives. Promise me my father's life, and all the love my heart has to bestow shall be yours.” “I do promise it,” he replied, clasping her in his arms. “The Comte de Saint-Vallier ought to rejoice that he has so powerful an advocate. None but yourself could have saved him. I had fully determined on his death.” “Mistake not my father, sire,” she rejoined. “He would not accept pardon from you if he knew how it was purchased. Dread of dishonour made him join with Bourbon.” “Think no more of that,” said François, passionately. “I care not to inquire into his motives for rebellion, since I design to pardon him. But I account it worse than treason that he should forbid you to love me.” “Enough of this, sire. I must crave leave to depart. I shall never feel easy till I know that my father is safe. Let me return to Paris with his pardon.” “A messenger is here from the first president,” replied François. “He shall take back the warrant.” “I can trust it to no custody but thy own,” said Diane. “You will not refuse me this, sire?” “I have said that I can refuse you nothing, sweet Diane,” he rejoined. “But you will come back soon?” “As soon as I have set my father free,” she rejoined. “Stay, Diane. I must not deceive you,” said François, somewhat gravely. “I cannot order your father's immediate liberation. He must remain a prisoner for a time.” “You will not belie your royal word, sire?” she cried. “You do not mean to play me false?” “I _will_ liberate the Comte de Saint-Vallier ere long, and bestow a full pardon on him--foi de gentilhomme!” said the king. “For the present, I can merely commute his sentence into imprisonment. But that is tantamount to pardon.”