The rain, however, was falling, the wind, which was very high, blew in our faces, and, compelled to stay where she was, she said I would ruin her reputation, as the postillion could see everything.
“I keep my eye upon him,” I answered, “he is not thinking of us, and even if he should turn his head, the cloak shelters us from him. Be quiet, and pretend to have fainted, for I will not let you go.”
She seems resigned, and asks how I can thus set the storm at defiance.
“The storm, dear one, is my best friend to-day.”
She almost seems to believe me, her fear vanishes, and feeling my rapture, she enquires whether I have done. I smile and answer in the negative, stating that I cannot let her go till the storm is over. “Consent to everything, or I let the cloak drop,” I say to her.
“Well, you dreadful man, are you satisfied, now that you have insured my misery for the remainder of my life?”
“No, not yet.”
“What more do you want?”
“A shower of kisses.”
“How unhappy I am! Well! here they are.”