"Mademoiselle forgets," I said, "that I had nothing to lose. It was lost already."
"Then surely," she replied lightly, "surely you must be glad I am going?"
"You know better than that," I answered. "Ah, Mademoiselle, do you not see? I hoped I might show you that I did not always blunder. I hoped I might show you—"
The words seemed to choke me.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," I cried, "if I had only been on the stairs at
Blanzy!"
"Blanzy!" she echoed, "Pray what has Blanzy to do with you and me?"
Even now I do not know what made me speak, save that she was going. The very ticking of the clock was bringing the moment nearer, and there she was, staring at me, wide-eyed, half puzzled and half frightened. It seemed already as though she were further away.
"Do you not see?" I said. "It is not like you not to understand. Nor is it very kind. How can I see you go and be glad? How can I be glad you love my father?"
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed suddenly startled, "Your father! I care for your father!"
I bowed in quick contrition.