de Cocheforet would have been taken, but by
others.'
Mademoiselle broke her long silence so suddenly that her horse
sprang forward.
'Would to Heaven he had!' she wailed.
'Been taken by others?' I exclaimed, startled out of my false
composure.
'Oh, yes, yes!' she answered with a passionate gesture. 'Why
did you not tell me? Why did you not confess to me, sir, even at
the last moment? But, no more! No more!' she continued in a
piteous voice; and she tried to urge her horse forward. 'I have
heard enough. You are racking my heart, M. de Berault. Some day
I will ask God to give me strength to forgive you.'
'But you have not heard me out,' I said.
'I will hear no more,' she answered in a voice she vainly strove
to render steady. 'To what end? Can I say more than I have
said? Or did you think that I could forgive you now--with him
behind us going to his death? Oh, no, no!' she continued.
'Leave me! I implore you to leave me, sir. I am not well.'
She drooped over her horse's neck as she spoke, and began to weep
so passionately that the tears ran down her cheeks under her
mask, and fell and sparkled like dew on the mane; while her sobs
shook her so that I thought she must fall.
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