“Stay!” exclaimed the stranger, as, smiling with ineffable sweetness, and deeply curtsying, she drew backwards towards the window: “Stay; how can those part whom destiny hath joined; how be divided whom their fates make one? Stay, lady, and let love, young love, plead his own cause. Oh, I would yet charm you with my tongue, even as your own detected tongue has just declared that this morning I charmed you with my deed. Stay. If, in truth, you did admire, what, at the moment of its execution, I thought nothing of, and value now only as it has relation to yourself, hear my appeal.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, startled at his earnestness: “I do not know you; go, oh, go; I say again, I do not know you, sir.”
“I never knew myself till now,” he cried with bitter pathos.
“I say, I do not know you; you do not know me;” she reiterated.
“Know me to be irrevocably yours;” rejoined the stranger, “for you have bound my heart in such fast thraldom, that even yourself could not deliver it.”
“And, perhaps, I would not, if I could,—unless you asked it:” she answered: “and yet, sir, possibly you jest. Oh, sir, forbear; begone, nor longer fool here a surprised, lone girl. What is your purpose? who, and whence, are you? On your honor, answer me truly.”
“I am the seigneur Montigny's only son: my purpose and my thoughts towards you are all honorable:” he replied. And she rejoined: “Oh, if your intentions are dishonorable, and you have not the spirit, as you have the aspect, of a gentleman, yet keep this secret, as you are a man.”
“What shall be said to reassure you?” demanded Montigny. “Witness, Heaven, if I assume to act, or intend anything injurious towards you. Believe me. I am the heir to a proud seigniory: you are,—I know not what; enough for me to know, you are the fairest figure that has yet filled mine eyes, and surely as good as fair. Will you be mine, as I am yours for ever? Speak, why are you silent?”
“Hist,” she said, listening.
“What is the matter?” he enquired.