“I shouldn’t wish it;—only—” and then he paused. It was hard to tell her that he was willing to sacrifice her to the old man because he wanted money from his mother.
“Only what! But Adolphe, do not wish it at all! Have you not sworn that I should be your wife? Look here, look at this;” and she brought out from her bosom a little charm that he had given her in return for that cross. “Did you not kiss that when you swore before the figure of the Virgin that I should be your wife? And do you not remember that I feared to swear too, because your mother was so angry; and then you made me? After that, Adolphe! Oh, Adolphe! Tell me that I may have some hope. I will wait; oh, I will wait so patiently.”
He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and forwards uneasily through the grotto. He did love her;—love her as such men do love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her hand, the affection of her touch, the pure bright passion of her tear-laden eye had re-awakened what power of love there was within him. But what was he to do? Even if he were willing to give up the immediate golden hopes which his mother held out to him, how was he to begin, and then how carry out this work of self-devotion? Marie would be turned away, and he would be left a victim in the hands of his mother, and of that stiff, wooden-legged militaire;—a penniless victim, left to mope about the place without a grain of influence or a morsel of pleasure.
“But what can we do?” he exclaimed again, as he once more met Marie’s searching eye.
“We can be true and honest, and we can wait,” she said, coming close up to him and taking hold of his arm. “I do not fear it; and she is not my mother, Adolphe. You need not fear your own mother.”
“Fear! no, of course I don’t fear. But I don’t see how the very devil we can manage it.”
“Will you let me tell her that I will not marry the capitaine; that I will not give up your promises; and then I am ready to leave the house?”
“It would do no good.”
“It would do every good, Adolphe, if I had your promised word once more; if I could hear from your own voice one more tone of love. Do you not remember this place? It was here that you forced me to say that I loved you. It is here also that you will tell me that I have been deceived.”
“It is not I that would deceive you,” he said. “I wonder that you should be so hard upon me. God knows that I have trouble enough.”