As Sauterelle ran on in this strain our hero grew pale and sick with dismay. Was he to be made a sacrifice of thus? Must the rescue of necessity lead to this? Oh, it was too awful!
“A beauty here that would befit a queen; and, yes, I feel love springing in my heart! But should I marry? I, a boy, and this, the daughter of a duke? Oh, that it might be so! As I have said, the French are more excitable than we. But am I not the rescuer-in-chief? In such a case as this, what should I do?”
A triumphant shout of sated vengeance now rang through the building. Bélître Scélérat was securely fastened, not exactly hanged, out of an upper window. A minute later the executioners came clattering noisily down stairs, then filed respectfully past our hero and heroine into another room, and took up a position where they were screened, but from which they could see and hear all that was going on. This action on their part was more conformable to human nature than to the laws of romance or the dignity of heroes.
A sidelong glance disclosed the fact that our hero’s face was of the hue of polished marble, and that large tears of heartfelt emotion were starting from his eyes, while other tears were welling from the pores of his neck and forehead.
“Père Tortenson, Père Tortenson,” cried Sauterelle. “Is he not here? Then go, some one, to look for him, and bring him here to me. The marriage may take place without delay.”
“Dear Sauterelle,” our hero said, “I feel I love thee well indeed, but yet I may not marry thee. Thy friend, thy humble servant, guide, and helper, I will ever be; thy husband—ah!”
Our hero’s grammar says mine and thine are used only in solemn style. Our hero and heroine were aware of this—they were but paying tribute to the solemnity of the occasion.
“No! say not that! You own that you love me as I love thee. What is there then to come between us and our happiness? Is it, alas! my title and my rank? Think not of them; they shall be nought to us. My Marmaduke, I’d lay them all aside for thee. Or what is it? Speak, Marmaduke; I wait to hear thee speak.”
“Alas, dear Sauterelle,—if really I may call thee so,—I am not worthy thee. It is indeed thy title and thy rank. How couldst thou wed a non-commissioned officer like me?”
“Perhaps you are the kidnapped heir of some great English lord.”