"Rise, mademoiselle, I beseech you," I said, with a quiet I was far
from feeling. "There is no need for this. Let us be calm. The
danger to your father is not so imminent. We may have some days yet
--three or four, perhaps."
I lifted her gently and led her to a chair. I was hard put to it
not to hold her supported in my arms. But I might not cull that
advantage from her distress. A singular niceness, you will say,
perhaps, as in your scorn you laugh at me. Perhaps you are right
to laugh - yet are you not altogether right.
"You will go to Toulouse, monsieur?" she begged.
I took a turn in the room, then halting before her "Yes," I answered,
"I will go."
The gratitude that leapt to her eyes smote me hard, for my sentence
was unfinished.
"I will go," I continued quickly, "when you shall have promised to
become my wife."
The joy passed from her face. She glanced at me a moment as if
without understanding.
"I came to Lavedan to win you, Roxalanne, and from Lavedan I shall
not stir until I have accomplished my design," I said very quietly.
"You will therefore see that it rests with you how soon I may set
out."
She fell to weeping softly, but answered nothing. At last I turned
from her and moved towards the door.
"Where are you going?" she cried.
"To take the air, mademoiselle. If upon deliberation you can bring
yourself to marry me, send me word by Anatole or one of the others,
and I shall set out at once for Toulouse.
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