“But that was not our first meeting: I remember a charming child who visited her aunt one day, when I was also there, and to whom I offered some cherries which I had gathered; I snatched them from her before she had a taste of them, and I remember how I chased the little maid around the garden and made her give me a taste of her cherry lips in exchange for the fruit. I have not forgotten the pretty little incident, Mademoiselle Hervieu, although it was some years ago, and you were but a gay and happy child.”
Alaine stood silent, but there was fierce anger in her eyes. He dared remind her now. She looked helplessly from one side to the other, then she lifted her chin with a haughty gesture. “Monsieur, your imagination quite exceeds your memory. I declare to you that I have not the honor of your acquaintance.”
He laughed mockingly. “She has very much the air of a peasant, this child of the good honest Michelle of the bourgeois face. Strange how she resembles her mother.” He glanced at the girl’s slim hands and feet, and his eyes travelled back to the well-set little head and the fine oval of the fair face. “So closely does she resemble her mother that I can well imagine how she will look some twenty-five years from now.” He laughed again. “We of the upper class do not mind amusing ourselves with a peasant lass, mademoiselle, and so you cannot be surprised if I steal a second kiss, since you repudiate the one you gave me six or eight years ago.” He made a step toward her, and Alaine shrank back with a little cry. “Monsieur,” she said, in a low, strained voice, “what is your motive in all this?”
“Ah-h! she comes to herself; the peasant lass is no more; she was too much for Mademoiselle Hervieu. I but desire to press my claim to your acquaintance, and to urge you to return to the home which is still open to you; to say that, as the friend of your cousin, Étienne Villeneau, I desire to do him the favor of returning the lady of his love to his arms. I had an opportunity of looking into the small black book on yonder table, the book which contains those hymns you Huguenots are so fond of singing at all times and in all places. I am too familiar with the Hervieu arms not to recognize the plate on the inside lid of the book, and the haunting face of the demoiselle whom I met at the fête was no longer that of a stranger. I understand why it seemed so familiar; in the flash of an eye I recollected the little scene which I have just recounted to you. That you were not better known to me is due to the fact that for some years past I have been in Paris to complete my studies.” Alaine listened gravely, making no comment. He waved his hand to a chair. “May we not sit, mademoiselle? I have more to say. I would not keep you standing.”
She bit her lip, but seated herself and regarded him silently.
“Étienne Villeneau is my friend; we were together at school in Rouen. Always Étienne spoke of his little cousin, his sweetheart, as he called her. Judge of my surprise and distress when, upon my return home some two years ago, I was told that this same pretty child whom I so well remembered had been stolen by her foster-mother and had disappeared, no one knew where. Étienne was in despair; he sent his emissaries to search high and low, but to no avail. When he knew I was to depart for these colonies he gave me as a parting charge, ‘My cousin, François, forget her not when you are in the land of the savage, and if chance be that you come across any who know of her, press home the discovery, so will you be my heart’s best friend.’ I find you here. I see you in this humble cot, performing with your own hands tasks that your servants at home should be doing for you, and, therefore, mademoiselle, not only in pity for my friend, but in sympathy for you, I beg of you to return to your native country.”
“Monsieur,” Alaine’s voice was low and determined, “you forget that I am a Huguenot.”
He snapped his fingers with an upward movement of them as he would say, “So slight a matter?” “That is easily adjusted, mademoiselle. Because you, as a child, were over-persuaded by your nurse is no reason why, as a woman, you should not revoke your opinions.”
“My father is also Protestant,” said Alaine, her dark eyes growing larger and more intense.
“Your father, M. Hervieu? And where is he?”