In so doing you need have no doubts concerning me.

M.d'Ombreval is my betrothed, and the troth I plighted him binds me in honour to succour him now." La Boulaye looked steadily at her for a moment.
"Upon my soul," he said at last, a note of ineffable sarcasm vibrating in his voice, "I shall never cease to admire the effrontery of your class, and the coolness with which, in despite of dishonourable action, you make high-sounding talk of honour and the things to which it binds you.

I have a dim recollection, Citoyenne, of something uncommonly like your troth which you plighted me one night at Boisvert.

But so little did that promise bind you that when I sought to enforce your fulfilment of it you broke my head and left me to die in the road." His words shook her out of her calm.

Her bosom rose and fell, her eyes seemed to grow haggard and her hands were clasped convulsively.
"Monsieur," she answered, "when I gave you my promise that night I had every intention of keeping it.