“Let us return to our first subject. My father, it is of him I think continually. To-day is his fête-day, and for him I dressed in my best that I might do him honor, though he knows it not, and for him I am become a prisoner. Alas, I am unfortunate!” She sighed and folded her hands resignedly.
François watched her for some moments, his head bent, his eyes taking in every detail of the delicate profile, the fine lines of the figure leaning against the post of the porch. “Mademoiselle,” he said at last, “I have another proposition to make. I throw myself at your feet. Escape you may. Your father, too, shall be free if——”
“If——” She turned quickly and leaned eagerly forward. “You mock me, monsieur. What would you say? If——”
“If you will fly with me to Canada.”
“With you?”
“With me, as my wife. Do you not see that I adore you?”
“I do not see it. You scarcely know me, monsieur.”
“To know you an hour is to love you.”
“And Étienne, your friend? This is your honorable love for him.”
“Did I not first plead his cause, and did you not refuse to consider him? Have I placed myself first? Listen, Alaine; it is so easy. We arise early; we go forth. I take you to Canada, to the convent. When you are ready we are united. I do not urge it now? I even make this concession: one year and you will marry me. I leave you with the Sisters, and at once I proceed to Guadaloupa, where I win the release of your father. I buy his discharge and I present him to you as my wedding-present. Is it not all so easy? We return to France, to your old home; you leave behind you but a company of poor peasants, and you return to your own.”