"And at what a moment, when you are about to be left alone in the world," said Gaston, unconsciously betraying a part of his secret.
"What were you saying, Gaston? What is the meaning of these words?"
"Nothing—nothing," replied the young man; "some meaningless words which escaped me, and to which you must not attach any consequence."
"Gaston, you are hiding some dreadful secret from me, since you speak of abandoning me at the moment I lose a father."
"Helene, I will never abandon you except with life."
"Ah," cried the young girl, "your life is in danger, and it is thus that you fear to abandon me. Gaston, you betray yourself; you are no longer the Gaston of former days. You met me to-day with a constrained joy; losing me yesterday did not cause you intense sorrow: there are more important prospects in your mind than in your heart. There is something in you—pride, or ambition, more powerful than your love. You turn pale, Gaston; your silence breaks my heart."
"Nothing—nothing, Helene, I assure you. Is it surprising that I am troubled to find you here, alone and defenseless, and not know how to protect you; for doubtless this is a man of power. In Bretagne I should have had friends and two hundred peasants to defend me; here I have no one."
"That is, it seems to me, more than enough."
"No, Gaston, for we will leave this house instantly."