“You must not try, I have done nothing.”
Just then a burning brand was hurled from the window; it fell into the lilac-tree where it devoured a cone of blossom and withered the leaves around it. It threw up a little springing flame which danced a light on Eloise, who had cowered into a corner by the steps, with her hand over her eyes. Pierre went to her. “Tell me,” he said, “what does this mean?”
“Oh,” she moaned, “he suspects we are here; he always has a fire on the hottest nights, and he is throwing the sticks out.” This led Pierre to expect another one. He caught her by the arm.
“You must come out of danger,” he said, “one might fall on your dress.” The brand was glowing in spots. He tore it out of the bush and trampled on it. They went to the other side of the steps. It was the season of quick growth. In one day thousands of violets had lit their little tips of yellow fire in the tangle of the underwood; in one day the tulips were moulded into fragile cups of flame burning steady in the sunlight; in one day the lilacs had burst their little clove-like blooms, and were crowding in the dark-green leaves.
Pierre was saying excitedly: “Listen to me. This thing cannot go further. I love you, I am yours. I must protect you. You cannot deny me.” Eloise tried to stop him with an imploring gesture. “No,” he cried, “you must hear me! you must be mine! I will take you away from here.”
“Oh, do not tempt me!” cried Eloise. “I must stay here. I cannot leave him.”
“You must leave him. What hold has he upon you? I will never let you go back to this torment,—never. Eloise,” he continued seriously, “sometimes we have to decide in a moment the things of a life-time. This is such a moment. Before I pluck this blossom,” he said, leaning down to a dwarf lilac-bush bearing one bloom, “I want you to promise to be my wife.” A moment later he had plucked the flower, but had dropped it, and had caught Eloise in his arms. She stifled a cry, and gave herself to him.
“Maurice, Maurice,” cried Eloise, “look at me, I am triumphant!” He hardly looked at her; he was cowering over the fire, which had smouldered away, and in which the ashes were fluttering about like moths.
“I have done what you asked, that is all,” he said, with an effort.
“But it is everything to me; I will never forget you, Maurice, no matter how powerful I may become.”