“For what purpose?”
“Upon my honor, I will instantly return it to you. You shall place it on that table, and you may remain between it and me.”
Felton offered the weapon to Milady, who examined the temper of it attentively, and who tried the point on the tip of her finger.
“Well,” said she, returning the knife to the young officer, “this is fine and good steel. You are a faithful friend, Felton.”
Felton took back the weapon, and laid it upon the table, as he had agreed with the prisoner.
Milady followed him with her eyes, and made a gesture of satisfaction.
“Now,” said she, “listen to me.”
The request was needless. The young officer stood upright before her, awaiting her words as if to devour them.
“Felton,” said Milady, with a solemnity full of melancholy, “imagine that your sister, the daughter of your father, speaks to you. While yet young, unfortunately handsome, I was dragged into a snare. I resisted. Ambushes and violences multiplied around me, but I resisted. The religion I serve, the God I adore, were blasphemed because I called upon that religion and that God, but still I resisted. Then outrages were heaped upon me, and as my soul was not subdued they wished to defile my body forever. Finally—”
Milady stopped, and a bitter smile passed over her lips.
“Finally,” said Felton, “finally, what did they do?”