René turned threateningly upon him and Vilon lowered his head. The idea of resistance never entered his brain, but neither could he entertain the idea of resigning Amélie. In body and soul he belonged to his master, the Marquis de Brezé; in body and soul she belonged to him, Jean Vilon. Amélie placed herself beside her husband. "Jean is right," she said. "He is indeed, my master. Happiness has died and love also. Like you, I sought at first to break this bond--but I cannot,--we cannot. I expiate." Tears flowed fast over her cheeks. Wild passion shot from Vilon's eyes. He longed to kneel before her and clasp her in his arms. He dug his nails into the palms to restrain himself. He hoarsely asked: "Is this the woman your lordship has loved?" "She was my promised wife. You have undone me by one act, Jean Vilon," answered René in a voice of deep sadness. Jean's mouth contracted. He suffered terribly, but he did not yield. He kept assuring himself that Amélie was his, his treasure. Only death could separate them. René clutched the Breton's wrist and pressed it till the bones almost cracked. "I repeat, Jean, you are the undoing of my life. But you shall not save your soul, if you persist, for a dreadful crime would follow. You refuse to give her up? Well, let me tell you who the woman is that you continue to call your wife. She is sacred, poor fool, and as inaccessible to you as the saints. Listen, dust of the earth. _She is of the race of kings_--do you hear?--you must never forget this fact--_of our kings_!" Terror and wonder contorted the peasant's face. He transfixed Amélie with a look of superstitious, reverence. The revelation exceeded his power of comprehension. "The blood of the king martyred by the revolutionists is in her body,--the king for whom your father bore arms and fought hand to hand so often,--the king for whom he lay concealed in the woods and for whom,--do you remember, Jean?--he was shot, his body lying unburied during seven days. If your father should now awake he would behold his son attempting to profane the daughter of that king! This is the crime to which you have lent yourself." "Is this true?" asked Jean, turning upon Amélie a face contorted with fear and pain. "Yes, Jean," she answered, her voice full of compassion. "I swear by my soul it is true." "And the honor of Brezé confirms the oath," added René. "Retain the fruit of your iniquity. I leave you your wife. You no longer have a master. I shall go away forever." "No," entreated Jean. "Rather I, rather I."