“Ninon!” and she lingered on the word. “Why, that is almost Nanette! Oh, that I could see her, now—this moment!”
“Perhaps you soon will—that cottage at St. Cloud, you know,” and I smiled at her eager face. “Come, it is time for me to pay my respects to your amiable uncle.”
She gave a little gasp.
“And you are not afraid?” she asked. “Do you think he will harm you, Pierre?”
“Harm me?” I laughed. “No,” and I touched the hilt of my sword. “There is nothing to fear—on my account. Come.”
She arose with a little sigh, and paused in the doorway for a backward look.
“But I have been happy here,” she said softly, and together we passed out into the street.
We made our way back to the Rue du Chantre in silence. She seemed oppressed by some foreboding, and I was considering what I would best say to her uncle. It was not an easy matter to decide—I felt that, in this case, I should be readier with my sword than with my tongue, I hated him so already! We entered the little court and paused at the stair-foot.
“I will leave you here, Nanette,” I said. “I shall not be long away.”
She answered with a pressure of the hand and smiled into my eyes. How often, afterwards, in my dreams, did I see her standing so!