"Through your cowardice you may be content to spend your days in beggary; not so am I; nor shall I be, so long as I have an arm and a voice.

You may go hence if your courage fails you outright; but I'll throw up the bridge and entrench myself within these walls.

Florimond de Condillac sets no foot in here while I live; and if he should come within range of musket-shot, it will be the worse for him." "I think you are mad, madame--mad so to talk of resisting him, as you are mad to call me coward.

I'll leave you till you are come to a more tranquil frame of mind." And turning upon his heel, his face on fire from the lash of her contempt, he strode down the hall and passed out, leaving her alone.
White again, with heaving bosom and clenched hands, she stood a moment where he had left her, then dropped into a chair, and taking her chin in her hand she rested her elbow on her knee.

Thus she remained, the firelight tinting her perfect profile, on which little might be read of the storm that was raging in her soul.