“To complain to the only person who loved her in this world—is it not so?” said Paul, withdrawing the letters and the pocket-book. “Imprudent daughter, whose own mother snatched the child from her heart, and who poured her bitter tears into the bosom of the father of her child! Imprudent sister, who, not finding any protection from this tyranny in her brother, has compromised his noble name by signing with the name he bears, letters, which, in the stupid and prejudiced eye of the world, may—how is it you term this in your noble class—dishonour her family, is it not?”
“Then,” cried Emanuel, reddening with impatience, “since you are aware of the terrible tendency of these papers, fulfil the mission which you have been charged, by delivering them either to me, to my mother, or my sister.”
“This was my intention when I landed at Lorient; but about ten or twelve days ago, on entering a church—”
“A church!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And for what purpose?”
“To pray there.”
“Ah! Captain Paul believes in God, then!”
“Did I not believe in him, whom should I invoke during the raging of the tempest?”
“And in this church, then?”