“And the other?” repeated mademoiselle, looking at me inquiringly.
I smiled. “The other would be to go to France, mademoiselle.”
Her face flushed crimson, and she gave me a haughty glance, as if she thought that I intended to reproach her for coming to us.
“That is possible, mademoiselle,” I hastened to explain; “we would protect you, and if you could cross the border in disguise, all would be well.”
She bit her lip, and sat looking at the fire. I knew that she marvelled at M. de Lambert’s absence, but it would have been unfortunate to mention his name while she was so sensitively conscious of her precipitation in coming to us. In the pause I heard his voice in the lower hall and rose to call him, but mademoiselle detained me.
“No, no!” she cried, blushing deeply, “I did not come to seek M. de Lambert—nor would I have him think it, for the world. I came to you and to Madame de Brousson for advice. I—I have put myself in an unfortunate position.”
I took her hand, and, looking at her agitated face, understood how she felt. “Mademoiselle,” I said gently, “are you not unkind to M. de Lambert? He has but just returned from an effort to see you; he has been ill—wounded in your quarrel—”
“Ill—wounded?” she cried in amazement, “I knew nothing of it! They have kept me like a nun.”
While I was telling her of her lover’s misadventure, there was a tap on the door, and Zénaïde opened it for M. de Lambert. At the sight of Najine, he uttered an exclamation, and in a moment had both her hands in his and was trying to express his amazement and delight, while her face was covered with blushes, and her long lashes hid the brightness of her eyes. I glanced at my wife, and we smiled; there was even a smile on the face of the Russian woman who stood so patiently by the door. After all, they were like two children, and it was a shame to think of separating them. He led her back to her seat by the fire, sitting down himself on a low stool at her feet, while I told him briefly mademoiselle’s errand, and pointed out the gravity and difficulty of the situation, although I knew that his impatience would scoff at obstacles. I was rather astonished that he listened with attention, and was willing to give the matter deep thought before proposing a way out of it. I knew well enough the expedient that he would suggest, for I saw it in his kindling eye, and imagined that mademoiselle divined it too, for her embarrassment increased. He let me finish my argument before he spoke at all.
“There is but one way,” he said at last. “Her guardians will have their own wishes obeyed as long as she remains here; but—” He stopped and looked up into mademoiselle’s face. “It is hasty,” he went on; “but if she will marry me now—I can and will carry her back to France.”