"What is this proof of your love?" said the creole, who, having approached the mantelpiece to resume her dagger, returned slowly towards the door, lighted by the flame of the hearth. Then, unobserved by the notary, she made sure of the action of an iron chain, which terminated in two small knobs, one of which was screwed into the door, and the other into the door-post. "Listen!" said Jacques Ferrand, in a hoarse and broken voice, "listen! If I place my honour, my fortune, my life, at your mercy,--now, this very instant,--will you then believe I love you?" "Your honour, your fortune, your life! I do not comprehend you." "If I confide to you a secret which may bring me to the scaffold, will you then believe me?" "You a criminal? You do but jest. What, then, of your austere life,--your piety,--your honesty?" "All--all a lie!" "You pass for a saint, and yet you boast of these iniquities! No, there is no man so craftily skilful, so fortunately bold, as thus to captivate the confidence and respect of men; that were, indeed, a fearful defiance cast in the teeth of society!" "I am that man,--I have cast that sarcasm, that defiance, in the face of society!" exclaimed the monster, in a tone of ecstatic pride. "Jacques! Jacques! Do not speak thus!" said Cecily, with a tone of emotion. "You make me mad!" "My head for your love,--will you have it so?" "Ah, this, indeed, is love! Here, take my poniard,--you disarm me!" Jacques Ferrand took, through the wicket, the dangerous weapon, with due precaution, and flung it from him to a distance in the corridor. "Cecily, you believe me, then!" he exclaimed with transport. "Do I believe you?" said the creole, energetically pressing her beautiful fingers on the clasped hands of Jacques Ferrand. "Oh, yes, I do! For now, again, you look as you did a short time since, when my very soul seemed fascinated by your gaze." "Cecily, you will speak the words of, truth--and truth only--to me?" "And can you doubt it for a moment? Ah, you will soon have ample proof of my sincerity. But what you are about to tell me is quite true,--is it not?" "I repeat that you may believe each word I utter." "So much the better, since you are enabled to prove your passion by the avowal of them." "And if I tell you all?" "Then will I, in return, withhold nothing from you; for if, indeed, you have this blind, this courageous confidence in me, Jacques, I will call no more for the ideal lover of my song, but you,--my hero, my tiger! to whom I will sing, 'Come--come--oh, come!'"