She had been pushed nearer, and nearer, and nearer; struggle as she might, she was on the verge.

A mist rose before her eyes, and though they thought she listened she understood nothing of what was passing.

When she came to herself, after the lapse of a minute, Count Hannibal was speaking.
"Permit him another trial," he was saying in a tone of bland irony.

"A short time longer, Mademoiselle! One more assault, father! The weapons of the Church could not be better directed or to a more worthy object; and, successful, shall not fail of due recognition and an earthly reward." And while she listened, half fainting, with a humming in her ears, he was gone.

The door closed on him, and the three--Mademoiselle's woman had withdrawn when she opened to him--looked at one another.