Julie gazed on him for a moment, as if she scarcely comprehended the import of his words; and then again hid her eyes upon his shoulder and wept. "Speak, speak, Julie!" cried Charles.
"What would you have me say?" she asked. "You force me to do what I think wrong. How can I refuse what you wish, when such is the alternative? Oh! Charles, it is you that are cruel now!"
Charles caught eagerly at the concession. He thanked her again and again; and he seemed so happy, that Julie could scarce repent that she had yielded. Yet still she would have lingered; and as Charles led her gently on towards the spot where his carriage stood, he was obliged to display a thousand reasons to prove to her that she was doing right; for, at every step she hung back; and though she wished much to believe herself justified, yet still the tears trickled down her cheeks, and her eyes dared not rise from the ground. But hesitation was now too late, and in a few minutes she was on the way to Paris.
During their whole journey, Charles's conduct was a course of quiet respectful attention. He strove to soothe Julie's mind; he sought to amuse it, but he never suffered any gaiety to jar with the sorrowful tone of her feelings. He seemed to feel, as painfully as she did, the want of her father's approbation, but he endeavoured to oppose to that the bright prospect of their future happiness. He spoke of quitting all the luxuries of Paris for the sole delight of her society; to let their lives glide away in some beautiful part of the country, love gilding with its sunshine even the winter of their days. In short, he called up all the dreams that man is wont to form in the brighter stage of his existence, when young imagination fashions out every distant object into some fair shape of its own; and so well did he image his wishes as hopes, and paint his hopes as certainties, that Julie suffered her mind to be carried a stage beyond reality, and forgot the uncomforts of the present in the bright future which he depicted.
It was night when they arrived in Paris, and an undefinable feeling of terror and loneliness spread over Julie's mind as she felt herself a stranger amongst the multitude. Charles seemed instinctively to enter into her feelings, and gently pressed her hand to his lips, as if he wished to tell her that there was at least one heart that beat warmly with hers.
After passing along several long dimly-lighted streets, the carriage stopped at the hotel to which it had been directed, and Charles applied himself to make all those arrangements for Julie's comfort, which she was hardly able to do for herself.
"And now, Julie," said he, "there remains but one thing more; I will instantly go to my father's hotel, end bring you his consent to our union."
"Oh, Charles! wait a moment, do not leave me yet," cried Julie; "I can bear any thing but solitude."
Charles pressed her to his bosom, and, sitting down beside her, gazed fondly over every lovely feature as she sat with her eyes bent upon the ground. She saw that he waited merely to gratify her, and that his mind was fixed upon the interview with his father, and at length, conquering her feelings, she bade him go.
Charles promised that he would instantly return, and left her, but at the same time he ordered his servant to stay at the hotel. "Show Mademoiselle Villars," he said, "the same service as if she were your mistress, and my wife, which she will soon become."