“Tell me the story,” I suggested, and reseated myself beside her.
“Well, M. le Moyne,” she began, “it is like this. My father and mother are both dead—have been dead for so long that I remember neither of them—and my father’s brother, Jacques Ribaut, a jeweller of the Rue des Moulins, is my guardian. Until a week ago he kept me at the convent of the Sacred Heart, and then, finally, just as I began to think I was to spend my whole life there, he sent for me. Oh, how pleased I was when the time came to leave those fearful gray walls, within which one never dared speak above a whisper! But I did not imagine what was about to befall me, or I should not have been so happy. I arrived at the Rue des Moulins; I was shown into the presence of my uncle, and I tried to make him love me. He looked me over much as he would have inspected an ox he was about to purchase, and he seemed well satisfied.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said, and I looked at her sparkling eyes and laughing mouth, and thought that a man must indeed be hard to please who would not be satisfied.
“Do not interrupt, I beg of you, Monsieur,” she cried, “or I shall lose my place, as we used to say at the convent. Well, as I said, he appeared pleased, and I had begun to hope that we should be very happy together, and that he would be good to me and permit me to see something of the world. But the next day he brought in another man to see me—oh, a horrible man, with a great nose which seemed to spread all over his face, and green eyes that would make you tremble. He also looked me over in a way that made my flesh tingle—that filled me with shame and anger, as though I had been insulted—and then they both went away and I tried to forget all about it. But the next day my uncle came to see me again and informed me that I was to marry this man, whose name, it seems, is Jean Briquet. I protested that I did not wish to marry, and especially not such a monster. I said that I had, as yet, seen nothing of the world, except that gray and dreary bit enclosed within the four walls of the convent—that I was still young and that there was plenty of time. But my uncle was inexorable. He said it was already a thing accomplished, since he had promised M. Briquet my hand, and that the wedding should take place in a week’s time.”
She paused for a moment, overcome by the horror of the recollection, and I found that in some manner her hand had made its way to mine. She did not attempt to remove it, and I held it closely, with a strange tenderness in my heart. It was so warm, so soft, so confiding—a child’s hand.
“Yes, yes,” I said, fearing that if she paused she would see her hand a captive, “and then?”
“I heard no more about it until to-night, when my uncle came to me and told me that the wedding was to take place at nine o’clock to-morrow morning. He paid no heed to my entreaties and reproaches, but warned me not to fail to be ready at the hour, and turned on his heel and left me. I could think of only one thing to do—that was to flee. Anything seemed preferable to marrying that hideous creature. So I put on my hat, placed in my purse the little money I possess, stole down the stairs, and through the front door into the street. Unfortunately, my uncle caught a glimpse of me as I ran past the house, and started in pursuit. You know the rest, Monsieur. You do not blame me?” and she looked at me with eyes soft with entreaty.
“No,” I said, “I do not blame you. You were right to flee, since there was no other way. No one could expect you to marry a monster.”
“Ah, how glad I am to hear you say that!” she cried. “And you will protect me, Monsieur, will you not? How I admired the manner in which you disposed of my uncle this evening,” and she smiled at me in a way there was no resisting.
Evidently even within the walls of a convent a woman may learn many things—or perhaps no woman needs to be taught the surest way to reach a man’s heart.