"But you must! you will, you must! Ah, Lorance, my father is won over. He bids me win you. He has sworn to welcome you; when he sees you he will be your slave."
"But my cousin Mayenne is not won over."
"Devil fly away with your cousin Mayenne!" M. Étienne retorted with a vehemence that made me shudder, lest the walls have ears.
"Ah, you are free to say that, monsieur, but I am not. I am of his blood, and dwell in his house, and eat at his board."
He was looking at her with a passionate ardour, grasping her actual words less than their import of refusal.
"Are you afraid?" he cried. "Are you frightened, heart-root of mine? You need not be, mignonne. You can contrive to slip from the house—Mlle. de Tavanne will help you. Once in the street, I will meet you; I will carry you home to hold you against all the world."
"It is not that," she answered.
"Am I your fear?" he cried quickly. "Ah, Lorance, my Lorance, you need not. I love you as I love the Queen of Heaven."
"Ah, hush!"
"As I love the Queen of Heaven. I will as soon do sacrilege toward her as ill to you."