The princess caught at a bough of the tree under which she stood, and pulled the bough down so that its leaves half hid her face, and the marquis saw little more than her eyes from among the foliage.  And, thus being better able to speak to him, she said, softly: 

“And dare you die, unforgiven?”

“I had prayed for forgiveness before you found me, madam,” said he.

“Of Heaven, my lord?”

“Of Heaven, madam.  For of Heaven I dare to ask it.”

[Illustration:  SHE STOLE UP AND SAW MONSIEUR DE MEROSAILLES SITTING ON THE GROUND.]

The bough swayed up and down; and now Osra’s gleaming hair, and now her cheek, and always her eyes, were seen through the leaves.  And presently the marquis heard a voice asking: 

“Does Heaven forgive unasked?”

“Indeed, no,” said he, wondering.

“And,” said she, “are we poor mortals kinder than Heaven?”

The marquis rose, and took a step or two towards where the bough swayed up and down, and then knelt again.

“A great sinner,” said he, “cannot believe himself forgiven.”

“Then he wrongs the power of whom he seeks forgiveness; for forgiveness is divine.”

“Then I will ask it, and, if I obtain it, I shall die happy.”

Again the bough swayed, and Osra said: 

“Nay, if you will die, you may die unforgiven.”

Monsieur de Merosailles, hearing these words, sprang to his feet, and came towards the bough until he was so close that he touched the green leaves; and through them the eyes of Osra gleamed; and the sun’s rays struck on her eyes, and they danced in the sun, and her cheeks were reddened by the same or some other cause.  And the evening was very still, and there seemed no sounds in the forest.

“I cannot believe that you forgive.  The crime is so great,” said he.

“It was great; yet I forgive.”

“I cannot believe it,” said he again, and he looked at the point of his sword, and then he looked through the leaves at the princess.

“I can do no more than say that if you will live, I will forgive.  And we will forget.”

“By Heaven, no!” he whispered.  “If I must forget to be forgiven, then I will remember and be unforgiven.”

The faintest laugh reached him from among the foliage.

“Then I will forget, and you shall be forgiven,” said she.

The marquis put up his hand and held a leaf aside, and he said again: 

“I cannot believe myself forgiven.  Is there no other token of forgiveness?”

“Pray, my lord, do not put the leaves aside.”

“I still must die, unless I have sure warrant of forgiveness.”

“Ah, you try to make me think that!”

“By Heavens, it is true!” and again he pointed his sword at his heart, and he swore on his honor that unless she gave him a token he would still kill himself.

“Oh,” said the princess, with great petulance, “I wish I had not come!”