"You don't answer," said he, leaning over towards the young girl; "you
don't take my hand--why is this?"

The unfortunate creature only answered by stifled sobs. Borne down with
shame, she held herself in so humble, so supplicating an attitude, that
her forehead almost touched the feet of her lover.

Amazed at the silence and conduct of the Bacchanal Queen, Jacques looked
at her with increasing agitation; suddenly he stammered out with
trembling lips, "Cephyse, I know you. If you do not take my hand, it is
because--"

Then, his voice failing, he added, in a dull tone, after a moment's
silence, "When, six weeks ago, I was taken to prison, did you not say to
me, 'Jacques, I swear that I will work--and if need be, live in horrible
misery--but I will live true!' That was your promise. Now, I know you
never speak false; tell me you have kept your word, and I shall believe
you."

Cephyse only answered by a heart-rending sob, as she pressed the knees of
Jacques against her heaving bosom. By a strange contradiction, more
common than is generally thought--this man, degraded by intoxication and
debauchery, who, since he came out of prison, had plunged in every
excess, and tamely yielded to all the fatal incitements of Morok, yet
received a fearful blow, when he learned, by the mute avowal of Cephyse,
the infidelity, of this creature, whom he had loved in spite of
degradation. The first impulse of Jacques was terrible. Notwithstanding
his weakness and exhaustion, he succeeded in rising from his seat, and,
with a countenance contracted by rage and despair, he seized a knife,
before they had time to prevent him, and turned it upon Cephyse. But at