Maurice seemed undecided.
“Obey these counsels, my son,” said Mme. d’Escorval; “the abbe knows much better than we do what is best.”
“I will obey, mother.”
The cure had not waited for this assent to go and give an order for harnessing the horses. Mme. d’Escorval left the room to write a few lines to a lady friend, whose husband exerted considerable influence in Montaignac. Maurice and Marie-Anne were left alone.
It was the first moment of freedom and solitude which they had found since Marie-Anne’s confession.
They stood for a moment, silent and motionless, then Maurice advanced, and clasping her in his arms, he whispered:
“Marie-Anne, my darling, my beloved, I did not know that one could love more fondly than I loved you yesterday; but now—And you—you wish for death when another precious life depends upon yours.”
She shook her head sadly.
“I was terrified,” she faltered. “The future of shame that I saw—that I still—alas! see before me, appalled me. Now I am resigned. I will uncomplainingly endure the punishment for my horrible fault—I will submit to the insults and disgrace that await me!”
“Insults, to you! Ah! woe to who dares! But will you not now be my wife in the sight of men, as you are in the sight of God? The failure of your father’s scheme sets you free!”