“Well, then, to-night——”
“But you, son of the South, my splendid jaguar, come expressly for me from the virgin forest of Brazil,” said she, taking his hand and kissing and fondling it, “I have some consideration for the poor creature you mean to make your wife.—Shall I be your wife, Henri?”
“Yes,” said the Brazilian, overpowered by this unbridled volubility of passion. And he knelt at her feet.
“Well, then, Henri,” said Valerie, taking his two hands and looking straight into his eyes, “swear to me now, in the presence of Lisbeth, my best and only friend, my sister—that you will make me your wife at the end of my year’s widowhood.”
“I swear it.”
“That is not enough. Swear by your mother’s ashes and eternal salvation, swear by the Virgin Mary and by all your hopes as a Catholic!”
Valerie knew that the Brazilian would keep that oath even if she should have fallen into the foulest social slough.
The Baron solemnly swore it, his nose almost touching Valerie’s white bosom, and his eyes spellbound. He was drunk, drunk as a man is when he sees the woman he loves once more, after a sea voyage of a hundred and twenty days.
“Good. Now be quite easy. And in Madame Marneffe respect the future Baroness de Montejanos. You are not to spend a sou upon me; I forbid it.—Stay here in the outer room; sleep on the sofa. I myself will come and tell you when you may move.—We will breakfast to-morrow morning, and you can be leaving at about one o’clock as if you had come to call at noon. There is nothing to fear; the gate-keepers love me as much as if they were my father and mother.—Now I must go down and make tea.”
She beckoned to Lisbeth, who followed her out on to the landing. There Valerie whispered in the old maid’s ear: