"I take that for granted, ma toute belle."
"I did not reply because—I am sorry now—I did not quite believe him. His eloquence was affecting. But it was also misleading. I thought it improbable any person would write so very well if he were so very ill. I lament my suspicions. I have added to his sufferings. He implores me, in each letter, since it is impossible he should at present visit me, that I should go, if only for a few moments, to see him."
"Out of all question—a monstrous and infamous proposal!"
"So I myself thought at first. But if it is true that he may die? Listen, dear friend, tell me—"
With a rapid, sweeping movement Gabrielle again sat down beside her friend. Again kissed her lightly on the cheek, manoeuvering the wide-brimmed hat skilfully, so as to avoid scrapings and collisions.
"Listen," she repeated coaxingly—"for really I find myself in a dilemma. I cannot consult my mother. She is timid and diffident before questions such as these, of what is and is not socially permissible. Her charity, dear, sainted being, is limitless. It conflicts with her natural timidity. Between the two she becomes incapable of exercising clear judgment. She does not comprehend modern life."
"Few of us do," Anastasia commented.
"And her health is, alas, still far from being re-established. I desire to spare her all physical as well as all moral exertion. Therefore I cannot propose that she should accompany me to visit M. René Dax. That would render my position comparatively simple; but the excitement and fatigue of such a proceeding are practically prohibitive for her."
"Am I then to understand," Anastasia inquired somewhat grimly, "that you kindly propose I should play duenna, and call on that singularly objectionable young man in company with you?"
"Ah! if it only could be arranged! But I fear he might not improbably refuse to receive you."