She looked at him scarce comprehending, yet feeling a deep compliment somewhere, for this man was a gentleman by birth, and his manner was respectful, and had always been respectful to her.
“Why do you want me to ask you that?” she said. “Because I’m going to France to join the war of the Vendee, and—”
“With the Comte de Tournay?” she interrupted. He nodded his head. “And if I thought I was keeping a promise to—to you, I’d not break it. Will you ask me to promise?” he persisted, watching her intently.
“Why, of course,” she answered kindly, almost gently; the compliment was so real, he could not be all bad.
“Then say my name, and ask me,” he said.
“Monsieur—”
“Leave out the monsieur,” he interrupted.
“Yves Savary dit Detricand, will you promise me, Guida Landresse—”
“De Landresse,” he interposed courteously.
“—Guida Landresse de Landresse, that you will never again drink wine to excess, and that you will never do anything that”—she paused confused. “That you would not wish me to do,” he said in a low voice.