"No! While I live I am his.

But we die together, Tignonville! We die together.

It will not last long, will it?
And afterwards--" She did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved in prayer, and over her features came a far-away look; such a look as that which on the face of another Huguenot lady, Philippa de Luns--vilely done to death in the Place Maubert fourteen years before--silenced the ribald jests of the lowest rabble in the world.

An hour or two earlier, awed by the abruptness of the outburst, Mademoiselle had shrunk from her fate; she had known fear.

Now that she stood out voluntarily to meet it, she, like many a woman before and since, feared no longer.