“But I wish to stop there,” she said, in a tone of surprise at his daring to contradict her wishes.
Péron set his face sternly. “I am sorry,” he said calmly, “but we will not stop at Ruel.”
“I am sorry too, monsieur—I do not know your name?” she added, pausing for his reply.
He thought a moment and rightly conjectured that she would know nothing of the manner of her father’s elevation.
“My name is Jehan de Calvisson,” he said quietly.
“I am sorry then, Monsieur de Calvisson,” she said, “but we will stop at Ruel.”
Péron looked at the erect figure and the firm little chin showing below the mask, and felt that it would be a struggle; but he was determined to win. He did not reply but merely bowed gravely, and she was quick to interpret it as an assent.
“We are near Ruel now, are we not?” she demanded. “I should know the way.”
“We are within a league of it, mademoiselle,” he replied quietly, and then turned back to give Choin a few directions; when he again rode up to her side, his face wore a more composed expression.
“It is cold,” she complained, “and the wind blows; monsignor should try the journeys he recommends for others.”