"C'est impossible!" she exclaimed impetuously. "Monsieur le Marquis will not consent. He is treated with intolerable rudeness by your friend Mr. Pembroke. He will not accept that which I propose. And I—vraiment, I desire no longer to work against you. No, monsieur Dan, tout est fini, we must say good-bye."
She held out her hands and Dan impetuously seized them. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms and his lips were seeking hers.
"I cannot let you go," he cried hoarsely. "I cannot say good-bye."
For a moment he held her, but soon, almost brusquely, she repulsed him. "C'est folie, mon ami, folie! We lose our heads, we lose our hearts."
"But I love you," cried Dan. "You must believe it; will you believe it if I give you the paper?"
"No, no!—What!—you wish to give to me the secret of the Oak Parlour?—"
"Aye, to entrust to you my life, my soul, my honour."
"Ah, but you must go," she murmured tensely.
"Captain Bonhomme is returning. It is better that he knows of your release after you are gone. C'est vrai, my friend, that I risk not a little in your behalf. Go now, quickly ... No! No!" she protested, as she drew away from him. "I tell you, C'est folie,—madness and folly. You do not know me. Go now, while there is time!"
"But you will see me again?" insisted Dan. "Promise me that; or, on my honour, I refuse to leave. Do with me what you will, but—"