“Mistaken! About what?” and he raised his honest eyes, half amused.
“About—Monsieur Laflamme. You said that he did not mean anything; that he only cared to win a girl’s heart and cast it away. It is not true. You were very unjust. He has been here. He has asked Uncle Gaspard for my hand. He would like to marry me. And I am not quite sixteen!” in a tone of exultation.
She mistook the fleeting color for a fit of vexation that he had been wrong, though people generally turned red when they were angry. It seemed to him all the blood rushed out of his body, whither he knew not, but left him as one dead. And there was a solemn tolling of bells in his ears.
She was enjoying his unlooked-for mood with a certain sense of triumph.
“Oh, the pity of the blessed saints, of the sweet Virgin herself! And you mean to marry him!”
“Well, if I did?” saucily. “I dare say there are girls who would jump at the prospect.”
“But you know next to nothing about him. He may have a wife already somewhere. Such things have been. Oh, Monsieur Denys cannot, will not let you go!”
That was like a strain of sweet music to her. Then she laughed and he looked puzzled.
“Oh,” with an airy toss of the head, “I don’t believe Uncle Gaspard would break my heart and make me miserable if I had cared a great deal for M. Laflamme. But I do not want to marry any one. I do not want to go away. I am very happy here. Why, there isn’t a man in the world like Uncle Gaspard!”
There was a great revulsion in every pulse. The warm blood came back to André’s cheek and the strange look went out of his eyes.