"You must go, Coralie! You can understand that my not saying so at once was not due to hesitation. No, only . . . I was thinking of that man's offer . . . and I am frightened for your sake. . . . What he asks, Coralie, is terrible. His reason for promising to save your life is that he loves you. And so you understand. . . . But still, Coralie, you must obey . . . you must go on living. . . . Go! It is no use waiting for the ten minutes to pass. He might change his mind and condemn you to death as well. No, Coralie, you must go, you must go at once!" "I shall stay," she replied, simply. He gave a start: "But this is madness! Why make a useless sacrifice? Are you afraid of what might happen if you obeyed him?" "No." "Then go." "I shall stay." "But why? Why this obstinacy? It can do no good. Then why stay?" "Because I love you, Patrice." He stood dumfounded. He knew that she loved him and he had already told her so. But that she loved him to the extent of preferring to die in his company, this was an unexpected, exquisite and at the same time terrible delight. "Ah," he said, "you love me, Coralie! You love me!" "I love you, my own Patrice." She put her arms around his neck; and he felt that hers was an embrace too strong to be sundered. Nevertheless, he was resolved to save her; and he refused to yield: "If you love me," he said, "you must obey me and save your life. Believe me, it is a hundred times more painful for me to die with you than to die alone. If I know that you are free and alive, death will be sweet to me." She did not listen and continued her confession, happy in making it, happy in uttering words which she had kept to herself so long: "I have loved you, Patrice, from the first day I saw you. I knew it without your telling me; and my only reason for not telling you earlier was that I was waiting for a solemn occasion, for a time when it would be a glory to tell you so, while I looked into the depths of your eyes and offered myself to you entirely. As I have had to speak on the brink of the grave, listen to me and do not force upon me a separation which would be worse than death." "No, no," he said, striving to release himself, "it is your duty to go." He made another effort and caught hold of her hands: "It is your duty to go," he whispered, "and, when you are free, to do all that you can to save me." "What are you saying, Patrice?" "Yes," he repeated, "to save me. There is no reason why you should not escape from that scoundrel's clutches, report him, seek assistance, warn our friends. You can call out, you can play some trick. . . ." She looked at him with so sad a smile and such a doubting expression that he stopped speaking.