"No oath!" he cried shrilly, his yellow face suffused by excited rage. "I swore no oath, I only said--only said--said----" His voice died away in a quaver as his eyes met those of the white-haired monk set in unshrinking sternness. "I submit, Father, I submit. Heaven is too strong for me, poor weak wretch that I am. But, pray God, heaven is worth a province. It is a long price to pay for a man's soul. But what we must not wring we may win by consent, a consent free from all pressure of compulsion? For that I must--I must think. Mademoiselle de Narbonne, your pleading has moved my pity, as you see, moved it greatly. From my heart I grieve for your sorrow. If--mark, for to-day I say no more than _if_--if Justice allows mercy--it is France who is offended, not I--would you wish to be the one to carry Monsieur de Helville's pardon to Poictiers?" "If I might, Sire," I answered, my heart beating so fast that I could hardly draw breath. "And if--not? If France can find no excuse, what then? Would you still wish to say--farewell?" "Farewell? Not that, not that; give me his life, Sire, give me his life, and in return everything that service, everything that devotion can do----" "Perhaps," he broke in sharply, "perhaps you can find me excuses for Monsieur de Helville, excuses that will satisfy--France! What will you give--France for his life?" "Oh, Sire!" I answered, half crying, for it seemed to me he played with my misery, "what can I give France?" "Navarre!" Leaning his chin on his palm, he bit furiously at his finger-nails. "Navarre! a child for a man. No, no, no, do not answer now, wait till you see Poictiers' market-place clear in your mind as it will be next Sunday at dawn. Wait and think. Go away for to-day, go away. I am tired and must rest, is it not so, Coctier? Only, I would be merciful. Come again to-morrow, and meanwhile, think hard." "To-morrow, Sire?" I cried, now fully weeping and too confused to grasp the meaning of all he said. "Oh, Sire! there is so little time." "Tut, tut! no, no, I am not so ill as that; every hour I am stronger, is it not so, Coctier? Take her away, d'Argenton, take her away, there is no more to be said." "But Monsieur de Helville--Gaspard--oh, Sire, the dawn of Sunday is so near, so very near." He had fallen back on the cushions, his thin chest heaving as he fought for breath, his eyes closed all but a narrow slit through which the evil beast in him glared at me. As I took a step towards him, wringing my hands, he shook his head, a dry, mocking smile, twitching his lips. "The greater need to think hard," he whispered. "A child for a man--to-morrow, when I send for you. In any case you shall see your lover, in any case I will send word. Take her away, d'Argenton, lest worse come to her, oath or no oath. A province for a single soul! Ah! Dear Saint Claude! what a price to pay! Take her away, take her away!"