"Ah! if only—anyhow, I am the happiest man in the world. Come, dearest!"
Hélène wondered at him a little. He was changed, somehow, her gay, talkative, light-hearted, single-minded Angelot. He had become grave. She longed to ask him many things—how had he escaped or been released from prison?—was it his father's doing?—would his father and mother be displeased at his marriage?—but in spite of the rapture of knowing that they belonged to each other, she felt strangely shy of him. In that silent, hurried walk she dimly realised that her boy friend and lover had grown suddenly into a man. There was keen anxiety as well as joy in the quick, passionate embrace he allowed himself before bringing her to his uncle's hands.
They walked up to the house, over the grass and the spreading sand. All was silent and dark, except a gleam of light from Monsieur Joseph's window. A dog came up and jumped on Angelot, with a little whine of welcome; another pressed up to Hélène and licked her hand. She was standing between the dog and Angelot when Monsieur Joseph, hearing footsteps, suddenly opened the window and stepped out with his gun.
He stared a moment in astonished silence—then: "It is you, Anne! He has been home, then, the good-for-nothing! You have seen your father, Ange? Well, I told him, and I tell you, that you must go all the same—yes, my nephew does not break promises, or fail to keep appointments—but come in, Anne! What is the use of racing about the country all night? How did you miss him, the worthless fellow?"
"This is not my mother, Uncle Joseph," Angelot said, laughter struggling with earnestness, while his arm slid round Hélène. "Let me present you to my wife."
"What are you saying?" cried Monsieur Joseph, very sharply and sternly, coming a step nearer. "I see now—but who is this lady? None of your insolent jokes—who is it? Dieu! What have you done!"
"I have been to the ball at Lancilly," said Angelot. "You see, this is my cousin Hélène. She preferred a walk with me to a dance with other people. And Uncle Hervé thought—"
"Be silent," said Monsieur Joseph. He walked forward, pushed his nephew aside—a touch was enough for Angelot—and gently taking Hélène's hand, drew her into the light that streamed from his window. "Mademoiselle," he said, "my nephew is distracted. What truth is there in all this? Are you here with your father's knowledge. Something extraordinary must have happened, it seems to me."
"It is true, monsieur," Hélène said, blushing scarlet. "It was my father's doing. He sent for the Curé, and we were married in the chapel, not an hour ago. Do not be angry with us, I beg of you, monsieur. He said he must bring me to you first—and he loves you. My father did it to save me. Ange will explain. My father sent his compliments to you—and he said—he said you will see that your nephew's duty lies in France now."
Hélène was astonished at her own eloquent boldness. Angelot watched her, smiling, enchanted. Monsieur Joseph listened very gravely, his eyes upon her troubled face. When she paused, he bent and kissed her hand.