She laid her hand on his arm, interrupting him. “Will you take me this evening to Monsieur Valmond, dear friend?” she asked.
She saw now how useless it was to attempt anything through these admirers of Valmond; she must do it herself. He must be firmly and finally warned and dissuaded. The conviction had suddenly come to her with great force, that the end was near—come to her as it came to Elise. Her wise mind had seen the sure end; Elise’s heart had felt it.
The avocat readily promised. She was to call for him at a little before eight o’clock. But she decided that she would first seek Elise; before she accused the man, she would question the woman. Above and beyond all anger she felt at this miserable episode, there was pity in her heart for the lonely girl. She was capable of fierce tempers, of great caprices, of even wild injustice, when her emotions had their way with her; but her heart was large, her nature deep and broad, and her instincts kind. The little touch of barbarism in her gave her, too, a sense of primitive justice. She was self-analytical, critical of life and conduct, yet her mind and her heart, when put to the great test, were above mere anatomising. Her rich nature, alive with these momentous events, feeling the prescience of coming crisis, sent a fine glow into her face, into her eyes. Excitement gave a fresh elasticity to her step.
In spite of her serious thoughts, she looked very young, almost irresponsible. No ordinary observer could guess the mind that lay behind the eloquent, glowing eyes. Even the tongue at first deceived, till it began to probe, to challenge, to drop sharp, incisive truths in little gold-leaped pellets, which brought conviction when the gold-leaf wore off.
The sunlight made her part of the brilliant landscape, and she floated into it, neither too dainty nor too luxurious. The greatest heat of the day was past, and she was walking slowly under the maples, on the way to Elise’s home, when she was arrested by a voice near her. Then a tall figure leaped the fence, and came to her with outstretched hand and an unmistakable smile of pleasure.
“I’ve called at the Manor twice, and found you out; so I took to the highway,” said the voice gaily.
“My dear Seigneur,” she answered, with mock gravity, “ancestors’ habits show in time.”
“Come, that’s severe, isn’t it?”
“You have waylaid me in a lonely place, master highwayman!” she said, with a torturing sweetness.
He had never seen her so radiantly debonnaire; yet her heart was full of annoying anxiety.