“Listen,” replied Felton, in a low voice. “I have just sent away the sentinel that I might remain here without anybody knowing it, in order to speak to you without being overheard. The baron has just related a frightful story to me.”

Milady assumed her smile of a resigned victim, and shook her head.

“Either you are a demon,” continued Felton, “or the baron⁠—my benefactor, my father⁠—is a monster. I have known you four days; I have loved him four years. I therefore may hesitate between you. Be not alarmed at what I say; I want to be convinced. Tonight, after twelve, I will come and see you, and you shall convince me.”

“No, Felton, no, my brother,” said she; “the sacrifice is too great, and I feel what it must cost you. No, I am lost; do not be lost with me. My death will be much more eloquent than my life, and the silence of the corpse will convince you much better than the words of the prisoner.”