“All these questions are abominable,” she said, rising suddenly, her physical strength having returned with the exercise of her mental powers.  “You ask me to give an account of my inmost feelings; you would sound the mysteries of my soul; you put my modesty on the rack; you would take to yourself rights that belong only to God.  I declare to you that, if my own life were now at stake and not another’s, you should not extract a word more from me.  However, to save the life of the meanest of men I would overcome my repugnance; much more, therefore, will I do for him who is now at the bar.  Know then—­since you force me to a confession which is painful to the pride and reserve of my sex—­that everything which to you seems inexplicable in my conduct, everything which you attribute to Bernard’s persecutions and my own resentment, to his threats and my terror, finds its justification in one word:  I love him!”

On uttering this word, the red blood in her cheeks, and in the ringing tone of the proudest and most passionate soul that ever existed, Edmee sat down again and buried her face in her hands.  At this moment I was so transported that I could not help crying out: 

“Let them take me to the scaffold now; I am king of all the earth!”

“To the scaffold!  You!” said Edmee, rising again.  “Let them rather take me.  Is it your fault, poor boy, if for seven years I have hidden from you the secret of my affections; if I did not wish you to know it until you were the first of men in wisdom and intelligence as you are already the first in greatness of heart?  You are paying dearly for my ambition, since it has been interpreted as scorn and hatred.  You have good reason to hate me, since my pride has brought you to the felon’s dock.  But I will wash away your shame by a signal reparation; though they send you to the scaffold, you shall go there with the title of my husband.”

“Your generosity is carrying you too far, Edmee de Mauprat,” said the president.  “It would seem that, in order to save your relative, you are accusing yourself of coquetry and unkindness; for, how otherwise do you explain the fact that you exasperated this young man’s passion by refusing him for seven years?”

“Perhaps, sir,” replied Edmee archly, “the court is not competent to judge this matter.  Many women think it no great crime to show a little coquetry with the man they love.  Perhaps we have a right to this when we have sacrificed all other men to him.  After all, it is a very natural and very innocent ambition to make the man of one’s choice feel that one is a soul of some price, that one is worth wooing, and worth a long effort.  True, if this coquetry resulted in the condemnation of one’s lover to death, one would speedily correct one’s self of it.  But, naturally, gentlemen, you would not think of atoning for my cruelty by offering the poor young man such a consolation as this.”