“This is the place, Mademoiselle,” I said, at last, and as we entered the house together I saw the old woman who acted as concierge, and whom I had come to detest even in a week’s time, leering at us horribly. My blood was boiling as I caught the meaning of her grimace, but I said nothing, fearing to alarm my companion, and we slowly mounted the dark staircase.
“’Tis on the third floor,” I said, and we kept on, awakening a thousand echoes. “This is the door, Mademoiselle. I will open it. There is a candle on the table. Good-night.”
I took her hand, which I felt was trembling.
“And you?” she asked in a whisper.
“I will remain here,” I said. “I will sleep upon the threshold. No one can enter without arousing me, so that you may sleep calmly without fear. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” she answered, and there were tears in her voice. She lingered yet a moment, as though there were something she still wished to say, then entered the room and closed the door behind her. I heard her moving about for a few moments, and then all was still.
I sat down upon the top step of the staircase and considered the situation. I confess it appeared to me an awkward one, for, though I had spoken so confidently to her, I had small hope that whatever I might say would have any weight with her ogre of an uncle. He doubtless detested me as heartily as I did him, and it was not to be denied that he had the law behind him, though in this instance, as in many others, quite divorced from justice. I trembled at thought of the blow her reputation must sustain if it were known that for a night she had been my guest—the face of the concierge, as I had seen it leer at us, gave earnest of what the whole gay, evil world of Paris would believe. I tore my kerchief from my throat, for the thought suffocated me. No one should ever know—how could they, in this great, seething, clamorous city? And if they did—if any dared to hint—thank God, I could answer with my sword!
He had thought me her lover—curse his shifty, treacherous eyes! Perhaps she had a lover—and I winced at the thought. But no, I would not believe it! She would have told me. She would have asked me to take her to him. And besides, I reflected, with a sigh of relief, she had said that she had left the convent a week before only to find her uncle’s house another prison. She could not have made such progress in knowledge of the world in so short a time—indeed the frankness of her look was proof enough.
With this thought, which somehow soothed and pleased me, I wrapped my cloak about me, and sword at side, lay down athwart the threshold. A vision of her sweet face danced before me—her eyes looked into mine, pure and limpid as twin stars. Marvelling at their guilelessness, I bent to kiss their rosy lids. Still they gazed at me, serene, untroubled, and I stopped, shamed in my inmost consciousness, as one who had thought to desecrate a flower.