“And so I love thee. No one shall ever part us again.”
“But thy mother?”
“She does not know. I have in some way missed her, and therefore I must leave thee for a little that I may find her; but we shall not even then be parted, for there is now no one to do us harm.”
Hand in hand, yet in soberer mood, they went back to the house. Lendert had told his story to Alaine’s father and had not been heard unkindly. If his mother’s consent could be obtained all would go well, he believed.
“You will not leave us?” Michelle exclaimed in dismay when Lendert announced his intention of seeking his mother. Pierre disposed of, Gerard married, François beyond return, she began to think it would be well after all if this young man were not allowed to wander too far away. Besides, she really liked him and was bent upon securing Alaine’s happiness. “He would make a desirable husband for Alaine,” she confided to M. Hervieu. “He has good prospects, and it is not so far to Manhatte, where they could live. It would be well if the girl were settled, she has had so many experiences, and I think she could not do better.”
M. Hervieu nodded and smiled. He understood Michelle’s concern for the girl, who had been as her very own, but he had observed a habit of self-restraint in these years past, and was not inclined to discuss the subject yet. For all that, he, too, advised Lendert not to return at once to his mother’s home. “She has heard of your having been there and of your going on to Manhatte. She will in all probability go there at once to overtake you.”
“And so you may keep it up, dodging each other for weeks,” said Michelle. “Better remain here, my friend.”
Lendert considered the matter. “I will go to the town and leave word with my mother’s friends that I am here, and I will furthermore send a message to her that I await her pleasure. If she wills it so, I will go to her.”
It was late one afternoon a week after that Alaine, from the porch where she had been sitting with her father, looked down the street to see three figures approaching. She had been examining the little packet sent her by Felice. “I send you a small token of my esteem,” the little lady wrote. “May this silver dove take you an olive branch of peace.” Then followed a few gracious words, and at the end, “I have a curiosity to know if you ever loved Pierre Boutillier. You will understand, being a woman, why I wish to know this. If I believed your heart given to him I should not be happy in what I have done, but in sending you your father instead of a lover, I feel sure I am doing you no wrong. Assure me of this and receive my gratitude.”
Alaine was smiling over these words when she beheld the three advancing figures. Surely that stride was very familiar. She sprang to her feet. “It is Jeanne! Jeanne Crepin! and Petit Marc, and, oh, my father, it is Madam De Vries herself!”