"She has gone out. He will have it so. She does not dream the end is so near." And Denise wipes her old eyes. "Mr. Grandon, is it possible that dreadful man must marry her?"
"Oh, I hope not!"
"He is very determined. And ma'm'selle has been brought up to obey, not like your American girls. If her father asked her to go through fire, she would, for his sake. And in a convent they train girls to marry and to respect their husbands, not to dream about gay young lovers. But my poor lamb! to be given to such a man, and she so young!"
"No, do not think of it," Grandon says, huskily.
"You shall see her this evening, sir, if you will come. I will speak to master."
Grandon goes on to the factory. Wilmarth is away, and he rambles through the place, questioning the workmen. There are some complaints. The wool is not as good as it was formerly, and the new machinery bothers. The foreman does not seem to understand it, and is quite sure it is a failure. Mr. Wilmarth has no confidence in it, he says.
Then Grandon makes a thorough inspection of some old books. They certainly did make money in his father's time, but expenses of late have been much larger. Why are they piling up goods in the warehouse and not trying to sell? It seems to him as if there was no real head to the business. Can it be that he must take this place and push matters through to a successful conclusion? It seems to him that he could really do better than has been done for the last six months.
It is mid-afternoon when he starts homeward. He will take the old rambling path and rest his weary brain a little before he presents himself to madame. She has a right to feel quite neglected, and yet how can he play amiable with all this on his mind? He wipes his brow, and sits down on a mossy rock, glancing over opposite. Did any one ever paint such light and shade, such an atmosphere? How still the trees are! There is not a breath of air, the river floats lazily, undisturbed by a ripple. There is a little boat over in the shade, and the man who was fishing has fallen asleep.
Hark! There is a sudden cry and a splash. Has some one fallen in the river, or is it boys on a bathing frolic? He leans over the edge of the cliff, where he can command a sight of the river, but there is nothing save one eddy on the shore where no one could drown. And yet there are voices, a sound of distress, it seems to him, so he begins to scramble down. A craggy point jutting out shuts off the view of a little cove, and he turns his steps thitherward. Just as he gains the point he catches sight of a figure threading its way up among the rocks.
"Keep perfectly still." The wind wafts the sound up to him, and there is something in the fresh young voice that attracts him. "I am coming. Don't stir or you will fall again. Wait, wait, wait!" She almost sings the last words with a lingering cadence.