“Has madame asked you, then?” she said, with some wonder, some gentleness, in her voice.
“I have resolved to offer myself, if you will give me the one end of a clue of hope to bear along with me.”
“Of what hope, monsieur? Your bargain should be with madame, not with me.”
He would not take her by storm, the aggravating noodle. No doubt that erst fulsome experience of his had distorted his sense of proportion in such matters.
“’Tis no bargain, of course,” he cried, in great distress. “To give me hope is to hand me nothing but a promissory note without a signature. But I would kiss it none the less for the sake of the name that might be there.”
But why did he not kiss the jade herself?
“Mon ami,” she said very kindly, “you must not concern yourself so of the favour of a poor foolish maid, who could return you, ah! so little for the noble trust you place in her; who is not even the mistress of herself.”
“Pamela!” he cried, in sudden agony, “you are not bound to another?”
“I am bound only to those who have protected and cared for me,” she answered. “It is no time this, when danger threatens, to think of separating myself from our common fortune.”
Her young bosom heaved; her eyes even filled with tears.