During this short and hurried scene, Louise had not once quitted her hold of Sainte-Croix, but, in extreme agitation, the result of mingled terror and surprise, still clung to him.
‘Beware! beware!’ continued Benoit; ‘I know it well, I tell you. He has water that burns like red irons; and he pours it on money, which leaves it blue. It will kill you! He has broken the bottle that held it.’
And he continued reiterating these phrases with almost frantic volubility, until one of the guard, at the risk of his life, pulled to the shattered door as well as he was able.
‘Gaudin!’ cried Louise as she fell at his feet, still clinging to his arm and his rich sword-belt. ‘Gaudin, only one word—tell me that you have not forgotten me—that you still love me.’
‘Yes, yes, Louise; I still love you,’ he replied in a careless and impatient tone. ‘But this is not the place for scenes like these; you might, in delicacy, have spared me this annoying persecution.’
‘Persecution, Gaudin! I have given up all for you; I have abandoned everything, even the hope of salvation for my own soul; I have wandered day after day through the heartless streets of Paris, or worked at the Gobelins until my spirits have been crushed to the earth, and all my strength gone, by the struggle to support myself; and all in the hope of seeing you again. Tell me—do you still care for me, or am I a clog upon your life in this gay city?’
‘Not now, Louise; not now,’ returned Sainte-Croix, ‘another time. This is ill-judged, it is unkind. I tell you that I still love you. There, now let me go, and do not thus lower me before these people.’
‘And when shall I see you again?’
‘At any time—to-morrow—whenever you please—at any place,’ continued Sainte-Croix, endeavouring to disembarrass himself from her grasp. ‘There, see! I am wanted by the guard.’
‘Gaudin! only one kind word, spoken as you once used to do, to tell me where I may see you: to show me that you do not hate me.’