He was quite aware how he stood in that quarter.

He had come to the conclusion that the Marquis, at least, had seen through the little comedy--or, was it not a tragedy, after all ?--which he had played in her bed-chamber, and he had convinced himself that the swiftness, the almost unseemly haste of his trial and condemnation and the nearness of his execution were largely due to a determination on the part of the old noble to get him out of the way before any scandal should arise.

Perhaps scandal was certain to come, and gossip to prevail, but it would be less harmful if the man were dead.
To ask to see a woman whom he was supposed to have insulted so deeply and wronged so grievously would have served only to call attention to those things, to have given the whole game away, as it were.

Besides, what would be the good of it?
She would leave him weaker in his resolution than before.

If she had loved him--ah, God, how his heart throbbed--if that impulsive admission had been the truth of her heart! Well, he told himself, he would have gone through the trial, accepted the verdict, received the bullets of the firing-squad in his heart, although it would have been harder.