"She can come, too. Give me my child, it is all I ask of you. Surely you do not need her."
Her voice was roused to a certain intensity, her thin hands worked. But it seemed to him there was something almost cruel in the motion.
"I cannot force her will. It is as she shall choose."
And seeing Jeanne all eager interest in the doorway of the old cottage, he knew that she would never choose to shut herself out of the radiant sunlight.
"Here is the old gift for you, my child;" and he clasped the chain with its little locket round her neck.
Pani came and looked at it. "Yes, yes," she said. "It was on thy baby neck, little one. And there are the two letters—"
"It was cruel to prick them in the soft baby flesh," the Sieur said, smilingly. "I wonder I had the courage. They alone would prove my right. And now there is no time to waste. Will you make ready—"
"I am not often asked among the quality," and her face turned scarlet. "I have no fine attire. Wilt thou be ashamed of me?"
She looked so radiant in her girlish beauty, that it seemed to him at the moment there was nothing more to desire. And the delicious archness in her tone captivated him anew. Consign her to convent walls—never!
Mam'selle Fleury took charge of Jeanne at once and led her through the large hall to a side chamber. Not so long ago she was a gay, laughing girl, now she was a gravely sweet woman, nursing a sorrow.