"Your piety?"

"A lie."

"You pass for a saint, and you would be a demon! You are a boaster! No;
there is no man quite cunning enough, bold enough, thus to insinuate
himself into the confidence and respect of men. It would be a frightful
defiance cast in the face of society."

"I am this man! I have thrown this taunt, this defiance, in the teeth of
society!" cried the monster, in an access of frightful pride.

"Jacques! Jacques! do not speak thus," said Cecily. "You will make me mad!"

"My head for your love--do you wish it?"

"Oh! this is love, indeed!" cried Cecily. "Here--take my poniard; you
disarm me."

Jacques Ferrand took, through the wicket the dangerous weapon with
precaution, and threw it from him into the corridor.

"Verily--you believe me, then?" cried he, in transport.

"I believe you?" said the Creole, leaning with force her charming hands on
those of Jacques Ferrand. "Yes, I believe you; for I see again your look of
just now--that look which fascinated me. Your eyes sparkle with savage
ardor; Jacques, I love your eyes!"