“Oh, Honorât! Honorât! what of my father?”
“Be calm, there is no immediate danger threatening the baron. The marshal has despatched two of his men to make inquiries about the facts.”
“But what does Luquin say about the fishery?”
“He comes to tell you that the consuls have returned the question with your father on the right of fishery to the overseers; so you see, Reine, that this news, although serious, has nothing threatening or alarming in it, and—”
“How do you think the marshal will consider my father’s conduct?” said Reine, hurriedly, again interrupting Honorât.
Her lover looked at her with as much surprise as sorrow.
“My God, Reine, what does that signify? Are we not to be united in a few days? at Christmas? Is it tiresome to you to hear me speak of my love for you?”
Reine uttered a sigh, and looked down without replying.
“Listen, Reine,” cried Honorât, with bitterness; “for a month now, there is something in you which is inexplicable; you are no longer the same, you are distracted, preoccupied, taciturn; when I speak to you of our approaching marriage, of our plans, of our future, you answer me with constraint. Again I say, this is not natural. What have you to reproach me for?”
“Nothing—oh, nothing, nothing, Honorât, you are the best, the noblest of men!”