recover with the veil of chastity those treasures of love which were only concealed from him to make him desire them the more ardently, he said, “Ah, now! I have only one thing to ask of you; that is, the name of your true executioner. For to me there is but one; the other was an instrument, that was all.”
“What, brother!” cried Milady, “must I name him again? Have you not yet divined who he is?”
“What?” cried Felton, “he—again he—always he? What—the truly guilty?”
“The truly guilty,” said Milady, “is the ravager of England, the persecutor of true believers, the base ravisher of the honor of so many women—he who, to satisfy a caprice of his corrupt heart, is about to make England shed so much blood, who protects the Protestants today and will betray them tomorrow—”
“Buckingham! It is, then, Buckingham!” cried Felton, in a high state of excitement.
Milady concealed her face in her hands, as if she could not endure the shame which this name recalled to her.
“Buckingham, the executioner of this angelic creature!” cried Felton. “And thou hast not hurled thy thunder at him, my God! And thou hast left him noble, honored, powerful, for the ruin of us all!”
“God abandons him who abandons himself,” said Milady.
“But he will draw upon his head the punishment reserved for the damned!” said Felton, with increasing exultation. “He wills that human vengeance should precede celestial justice.”
“Men fear him and spare him.”