“But how shall we escape?” she cried, terror-stricken by the volleys they were firing.

“Easily,” I said.  “Follow me.”

I seized a torch, and lifting a trap-door, I made her descend with me to the cellar.  Thence we passed into a subterranean passage hollowed out of the rock.  This, in bygone days had enabled the garrison, then more numerous, to venture upon an important move in case of an attack; some of the besieged would emerge into the open country on the side opposite the portcullis and fall on the rear of the besiegers, who were thus caught between two fires.  But many years had passed since the garrison of Roche-Mauprat was large enough to be divided into two bodies; and besides, during the night it would have been folly to venture beyond the walls.  We arrived, therefore, at the exit of the passage without meeting with any obstacle.  But at the last moment I was seized with a fit of madness.  I threw down my torch, and leaned against the door.

“You shall not go out from here,” I said to the trembling Edmee, “without promising to be mine.”

We were in darkness; the noise of the fight no longer reached us.  Before any one could surprise us here we had ample time to escape.  Everything was in my favour.  Edmee was now at the mercy of my caprice.  When she saw that the seductions of her beauty could no longer rouse me to ecstasy, she ceased to implore, and drew backward a few steps.

“Open the door,” she said, “and go out first, or I will kill myself.  See, I have your hunting-knife.  You left it by the side of the trap-door.  To return to your uncles you will have to walk through my blood.”

Her resolute manner frightened me.

“Give me that knife,” I said, “or, be the consequences what they may, I will take it from you by force.”

“Do you think I am afraid to die?” she said calmly.  “If this knife had only been in my hand yonder in the chateau, I should not have humbled myself before you.”

“Confound it!” I cried, “you have deceived me.  Your love is a sham.  Begone!  I despise you.  I will not follow such as you.”

At the same time I opened the door.

“I would not go without you,” she cried; “and you—­you would not have me go without dishonour.  Which of us is the more generous?”

“You are mad,” I said.  “You have lied to me; and you do not know what to do to make a fool of me.  However, you shall not go out from here without swearing that your marriage with the lieutenant-general or any other man shall not take place before you have been my mistress.”

“Your mistress!” she said.  “Are you dreaming?  Could you not at least soften the insult by saying your wife?”

“That is what any one of my uncles would say in my place; because they would care only about your dowry.  But I—­I yearn for nothing but your beauty.  Swear, then, that you will be mine first; afterwards you shall be free, on my honour.  And if my jealousy prove so fierce that it may not be borne, well, since a man may not go from his word, I will blow my brains out.”