"But I must keep my word," she told herself. "I have promised this for the child's life." When she realized that no miracle was forthcoming to liberate her, she was near screaming: "Help! help! Violence is being enacted. I do not wish to marry." But she knew that such appeal would be futile. She would be called hysterical and the child's martyrdom recommenced. Her story was so extraordinary, her claims so pretentious, that the witnesses would think she raved. Raising her eyes to the face of the crucified, she seemed to hear these words: "Suffer now, for the hour of your expiation has arrived." The chaplain put the questions to which the groom replied in a passionate tremor; Amélie's well-nigh inarticulate assent made her the wife of Jean Vilon. Almost swooning, she left the chapel. As the bridal pair reached the salon, the Duchess approached with an affectionate greeting and holding a diamond brooch which she sought to place in the girl's bosom. Amélie drew back, as from the sting of a venomous reptile, refusing the Judas kiss which the lady would have sounded upon her cheek. But the Duchess continued to smile in insolent triumph. At last did an insuperable obstacle exist between her son and this impertinent girl. This union to a peasant made the pretentions of Naundorff seem more extravagant than ever. The liveried attendants smiled also in joy at the diabolical victory. Then the Duchess addressed this speech to the groom: "Jean, you are a faithful servant and it has made me happy to divine your wishes and give you the wife you desired. She is suitable to you, being of your class. Her father is a watch-maker and her mother a seamstress. May God give you long life. The castle of Picmort remains in your custody, it being the property of my son, the powerful Marquis de Brezé, whom I on this occasion represent. The farm of Plouret is yours and thither may you retire when you are minded to do so." Amélie heard the words and thought she must be dreaming; such duplicity bewildered her. Indignant protests rose to her lips but her helplessness and disdain smothered the words. Casting upon the Duchess a look of regal scorn, she left the salon and re-entered the Marquise's boudoir. Very soon after, the Duchess with her two liveried attendants and the chaplain was driven away from the castle. Jean Vilon carried the lady's belongings to the chaise and bowed in profound respect and gratitude as she departed. Amélie, having locked herself in, wept bitterly, the child clasped to her breast. Was all this true, great God? Was she indeed the wife of Jean Vilon? Absurd! Heaven would yet guide her out of this dilemma. O rather than submit, she would fling herself from that window into the pit below.