All these months wasted, all these longings and regrets for nothing, all this suffering to afford Monsieur le Marquis the momentary pleasure of seeing his own flesh and blood writhe! Hate.
As hot lead sinks into the flesh, so this word sank into the Chevalier's soul, blotting out charity and forgiveness.

Forgive?
His laughter rang out hard and sinister.

Only God could forgive such a wrong.

How that wrinkled face roused the venom in his soul! Was the marquis telling the truth?
Had he lied?
Was not this the culmination of the series of tortures the marquis had inflicted upon him all these years: to let him fly once more, only to drag him down into swallowing mire from which he might never rise?
And yet.

.