The deep misery expressed in his tones shook Jean a little, but he was inexorable. Giving one glance at Elise, who, seemingly turned into stone by the terrible nature of her lover’s words, stood breathless and pale before them, he said:
“It is not enough, Camille; tell her why you go away to-night. Tell her it is a flight.”
“You have said it,” murmured the other, half savagely; then as Jean remained unchanged in look and attitude, cried harshly: “Mademoiselle, I am unworthy of your attention. I—I am no longer an honest man. I—have—”
“Stolen,” added a deep, firm voice.
The silence that followed this word was such as could be felt.
“And you wished to take me with you!” were the words that first interrupted it.
“I love you,” murmured Camille in a broken, miserable tone.
Elise turned slowly away.
“My father! my father!” burst involuntarily from her lips, and she held out her arms in dumb entreaty to the door that separated her from her beloved parent.
Instantly and as if in answer to her appeal, a strange murmur arose from that room, an inarticulate, almost an agonized murmur that struck terror to the hearts of those who heard it.