Mariquita entered hastily, expecting to be chidden, then paused shyly, seeing who was there.
"Shamefaced, come; don't you know this gentleman?" said her aunt, encouragingly. "Entertain him, little one, while I fetch your uncle."
"What does it mean?" asked Mariquita, in amazement, as soon as she could release herself from her lover's embrace. "You here, Stanislas: my aunt approving! Am I mad or asleep?"
"Neither, dearest. She sees a chance of profit out of me—that's all. I will not baulk her. She deserves it for leaving us alone," and he would have taken her again into his arms.
"No, no! Enough, Stanislas!" said the sweet girl, blushing a rosy red. "Sit there and be quiet. Tell me of yourself: why you are here. The war, then, is over? The Holy Saints be praised! How I hated that war!"
"Do not say that, love! It has been the making of me."
"Nothing would compensate me for all that I have suffered these last few months."
"But I have gained my promotion and much more. I can offer you now a far higher position. You will be a lady, a great lady, some day!"
"It matters little, my Stanislas, so long as I am with you. I would have been content to share your lot, however humble, anywhere."
This was her simple, unquestioning faith. Her love filled all her being. She belonged, heart and soul, to this man.