He was holding the half-fainting Euphrasie in his arms, and stroking her hair.
"I always yaired say he was one no-'count creole. I nevair want to believe dat."
"Don't—don't say that again, papa," she whisperingly entreated, speaking in French. "Placide has saved me!"
"He has save' you f'om w'at, Euphrasie?" asked her father, in dazed astonishment.
"From sin," she replied to him under her breath.
"I don' know w'at all dat mean," the old man muttered, bewildered, as he arose and walked out on the gallery.
Offdean had taken coffee in his room, and would not wait for breakfast. When he went to bid Euphrasie good-by, she sat beside the table with her head bowed upon her arm.
He took her hand and said good-by to her, but she did not look up.
"Euphrasie," he asked eagerly, "I may come back? Say that I may—after a while."
She gave him no answer, and he leaned down and pressed his cheek caressingly and entreatingly against her soft thick hair.