You know Monsieur Iberville--he is a
man all honour. More than once he might have had your husband's life,
but he gave it to him."
Her foot tapped the ground impatiently, her hands clasped before her.
"Go on, oh, go on!" she said. "What is it? why is he here? Have you
no pity, no heart?" She turned towards the priest. "You are a man of
God. You said once that you would help me make peace between my husband
and Monsieur Iberville, but you join here with his enemies."
"Madame, believe me, you are wrong. I have done all I could: I have
brought you here."
"Yes, yes; forgive me," she replied. She turned to Perrot again. "It is
with you, then. You helped to save my life once--what right have you to
destroy it now? You and Monsieur Iberville gave me the world when it
were easy to have lost it; now when the world is everything to me because
my husband lives in it, you would take his life and break mine."
Suddenly a thought flashed into her mind. Her eyes brightened, her hand
trembled towards Perrot, and touched him. "Once I gave you something,
monsieur, which I had worn on my own bosom. That little gift--of a
grateful girl, tell me, have you it still?"
Perrot drew from his doublet the medallion she had given him, and
fingered it uncertainly.
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