She soon after saw the Marquis depart; and as there now appeared to be no obstacle to the return of Madame La Motte, she expected her with extreme impatience. After thus waiting near an hour in her chamber, she was at length summoned to the parlour, and there found Monsieur La Motte alone. He arose upon her entrance, and for some minutes paced the room in silence. He then seated himself, and addressed her: What you have mentioned to Madame La Motte, said he, would give me much concern, did I consider the behaviour of the Marquis in a light so serious as she does. I know that young ladies are apt to misconstrue the unmeaning gallantry of fashionable manners; and you, Adeline, can never be too cautious in distinguishing between a levity of this kind and a more serious address.
Adeline was surprised and offended that La Motte should think so lightly both of her understanding and disposition as his speech implied. Is it possible, Sir, said she, that you have been apprized of the Marquis's conduct?
It is very possible, and very certain, replied La Motte with some asperity; and very possible, also, that I may see this affair with a judgment less discoloured by prejudice than you do. But, however, I shall not dispute this point; I shall only request that, since you are acquainted with the emergency of my circumstances, you will conform to them, and not, by an ill-timed resentment, expose me to the enmity of the Marquis. He is now my friend, and it is necessary to my safety that he should continue such; but if I suffer any part of my family to treat him with rudeness, I must expect to see him my enemy. You may surely treat him with complaisance. Adeline thought the term rudeness a harsh one as La Motte applied it, but she forbore from any expression of displeasure. I could have wished, Sir, said she, for the privilege of retiring whenever the Marquis appeared; but since you believe this conduct would affect your interest, I ought to submit.
This prudence and good-will delights me, said La Motte; and since you wish to serve me, know that you cannot more effectually do it than by treating the Marquis as a friend. The word friend, as it stood connected with the Marquis, sounded dissonantly to Adeline's ear; she hesitated, and looked at La Motte. As your friend, Sir, said she, I will endeavour to—treat him as mine, she would have said, but she found it impossible to finish the sentence. She entreated his protection from the power of her father.
What protection I can afford is yours, said La Motte; but you know how destitute I am both of the right and the means of resisting him, and also how much I require protection myself. Since he has discovered your retreat, he is probably not ignorant of the circumstances which detain me here; and if I oppose him, he may betray me to the officers of the law, as the surest method of obtaining possession of you. We are encompassed with dangers, continued La Motte; would I could see any method of extricating ourselves!
Quit this abbey, said Adeline, and seek an asylum in Switzerland or Germany; you will then be freed from further obligation to the Marquis, and from the persecution you dread. Pardon me for thus offering advice, which is certainly in some degree prompted by a sense of my own safety, but which, at the same time, seems to afford the only means of ensuring yours.
Your plan is reasonable, said La Motte, had I money to execute it. As it is, I must be contented to remain here as little known as possible, and defend myself by making those who know me my friends. Chiefly I must endeavour to preserve the favour of the Marquis: he may do much, should your father even pursue desperate measures. But why do I talk thus? your father may ere this have commenced these measures, and the effects of his vengeance may now be hanging over my head. My regard for you, Adeline, has exposed me to this; had I resigned you to his will, I should have remained secure.
Adeline was so much affected by this instance of La Motte's kindness, which she could not doubt, that she was unable to express her sense of it. When she could speak, she uttered her gratitude in the most lively terms.—Are you sincere in these expressions? said La Motte.
Is it possible I can be less than sincere? replied Adeline, weeping at the idea of ingratitude.—Sentiments are easily pronounced, said La Motte, though they may have no connection with the heart; I believe them to be sincere so far only as they influence our actions.
What mean you, Sir? said Adeline with surprise.