"Madame, you cannot go in midwinter."
"Must I go at all?" she cried out passionately. "Why don't you tell me a De Ferrier shall not crawl the earth before a Bonaparte! You—of all men! We are poor and exiles because we were royalists—are royalists—we always shall be royalists! I would rather make a wood-chopper of Paul than a serf to this Napoleon!"
She checked herself, and motioned to a chair.
"Sit down, monsieur. Pardon me that I have kept you standing."
I placed the chair for her, but she declined it, and we continued to face each other.
"Madame," I said, "you seem to blame me for something. What have I done?"
"Nothing, monsieur."
"I will now ask your advice. What do you want me to do that I have not done?"
"Monsieur, you are doing exactly what I want you to do."
"Then you are not displeased with me?"