Marie-Anne recoiled in horror.
“Never! never!” she exclaimed.
The abbe did not seem surprised.
“I understand your repugnance, my child,” he said, gently; “your reputation has suffered greatly through the attentions of the marquis.”
“Oh! sir, I entreat you.”
“But one should not hesitate, my child, when duty speaks. You owe this sacrifice to an innocent man who has been ruined through your father.”
He explained to her all that she must say, and did not leave her until she had promised to see the marquis in person. But the cause of her repugnance was not what the abbe supposed. Her reputation! Alas! she knew that was lost forever. No, it was not that.
A fortnight before she would not have been disquieted by the prospect of this interview. Then, though she no longer hated Martial, he was perfectly indifferent to her, while now——
Perhaps in choosing the Croix d’Arcy for the place of meeting, she hoped that this spot, haunted by so many cruel memories, would restore her former aversion.
On pursuing the path leading to the place of rendezvous, she said to herself that Martial would undoubtedly wound her by the tone of careless gallantry which was habitual to him.