When Oliva could distinguish the soldiers who filled her house, she threw herself into the arms of her protector in despair. “Save me! save me!” she cried.
He pressed her hand. “I promise you.”
“But they will find me out anywhere.”
“Not where I shall take you; they will not seek you at my house.”
“Oh!” cried she, frightened, “am I to go home with you?”
“You are foolish,” said he; “I am not your lover, and do not wish to become so. If you prefer a prison, you are free to choose.”
“No,” replied she, “I trust myself to you, take me where you please.”
He conducted her to the Rue Neuve St. Gilles, into a small room on the second floor.
“How triste!” said she; “here, without liberty, and without even a garden to walk in.”
“You are right,” said he; “besides, my people would see you here at last.”