"She did not, I suppose, leave messages for friends; words of remembrance and so forth—there was not time, perhaps?"
"Doubtless there was neither time nor inclination, Monsieur. Louise was happily but little disposed towards those follies of womankind to which I have made allusion."
"Pardon, Monsieur, I had reason to hope that in my own case Mademoiselle Louise had made an exception."
"Not so, Monsieur; believe me, you are mistaken."
"I think not, Monsieur. I may tell you, since Mademoiselle is dead and I break no confidence, that she had even confessed her love for me."
"Then, Sapristi, Monsieur le Baron, I repeat ten thousand times," cried old Pierre, banging the table with his fist, "that I thank Heaven my daughter ceased to exist before your return from the war. Monsieur le Baron will now understand my sentiments in this matter and will, I trust, for the future retain inviolate the secret he has been good enough to share with me."
Henri bowed and prepared to depart. The man was obviously crazy. Probably the death of Louise had overbalanced his reason. Henri remembered that he had heard long ago of his eccentricity with regard to his daughters and their sex.
"Monsieur will pardon my intrusion," he said politely; "he may rest assured that the secret made over to him shall henceforward remain inviolate in my breast."
When old Pierre returned to his daughter his face betrayed that he was in the best of spirits. He entered the room laughing and swearing round oaths.
"Âme de mon Épée!" he exclaimed; "I think we shall have no more visits from this suitor. The devil! He would have carried Louise from under our noses if we and she had been fools enough to let him. Thanks be to Heaven that Louise—if ever for a moment she wavered, as you seem to suppose—quickly recovered her balance. It was your example, Marie, fool that you made of yourself!" Marie laughed.