“But that’s treason!” cried Mrs. Bernard.
“Yes, Mrs. Bernard,” said Vance, “run at once to the police-station. Tell them to send a file of soldiers. We must have her arrested.”
“O no, no!” exclaimed Clara, deceived by Vance’s grave acting. Then, seeing her mistake, she laughed, and said: “That’s too bad. I thought for a moment you were in earnest.”
“We will spare you this time,” said Vance, with a smile that made his whole face luminous; “but should outsiders in the street hear you, they may not be so forbearing. They will tear our little house down if you’re not careful.”
“I’ll not be so imprudent again,” returned Clara. “Will you play for me, sir?” And she resumed her seat on the sofa.
Vance played some extemporized variations on the Carnival of Venice; and Clara, who had regarded Mrs. Bernard’s praises as extravagant, now concluded they were the literal truth. “Oh!” she exclaimed, naively, “I never heard playing like that. Do not ask me to play before you again, sir.”
Mrs. Bernard left to attend to the affairs of the cuisine.
“Now, mademoiselle,” said Vance, “what can I do before I go?”
“All I want,” replied Clara, “is time to arrange some plan. I left home so suddenly I’m quite at a loss.”
“Do I understand you’ve left your parents?”