“Monsieur,” said Eloise, commencing hurriedly but determinedly, “in this life everything is uncertain; so much depends upon mere circumstances, which are too obscure for us to control. I am willing to show you the furniture, but how much depends upon that!” She rose with the air of a heroine, and led the way to the foot of the stairs. Pierre followed. She had ascended three steps, and he had his hand on the newel post, when there was a crash in the room above. Eloise turned suddenly and leaned against the banister, glancing up the stairs, and extending her hand to keep Pierre back. “Monsieur, for the love of heaven do not come on, go back—go back into the room, I beg of you.”
“I am leaving you in danger, Mademoiselle.”
“I am accustomed to it. I beg of you.” She accompanied these words with an imploring gesture. Pierre went into the room, where he paced up and down. The noise increased in violence, and then ceased altogether. Eloise returned to the room; she leaned from the window, breathing convulsively; she plucked one of the half-grown lilac leaves and bit it through and through.
“Yet the furniture must be sold,” she said aloud. Pierre took a step toward her.
“Mademoiselle, you are in distress. May I not help you? I am able to. You can command me.”
“Alas, Monsieur, you mean I can command your wealth.” Pierre was profoundly moved at the sorrow in her girlish voice.
“I mean I would help you; I want to do what I can for you.”
“Let us go no farther,” she said, with her eyes fixed on the floor. “I must not come into your happy life.” There was a trace of bitterness in her tone.
“I have undertaken to buy the furniture,” he said, with a smile. “I will not give up so soon.”
“Maurice, Maurice, you are a splendid ogre!” said Eloise, throwing open the door.