She turned toward him with a grave face.
“I did not know until to-day, monsieur,� she said, “that my grandmother had asked you to stay with us to protect us—’twas more than she had a right to ask.�
“Not more than she had a right to ask,� he replied, “but I remained for another reason—can you not divine it, mademoiselle?�
The blue eyes avoided his, and the color came back into her cheeks.
“I have no right perhaps to tell you now, when the future looks so dark,� he said, “and I have felt that you were displeased at my inactivity. Yet—last night—when I was facing death I longed to speak—to tell you all that was in my heart—even if you were indifferent. Love cannot always be silent—God forgive me if I break in upon your innocent peace with my life and its passions and regrets. The world was desolate when I saw you—I had lost all—and then I looked out of my darkness and saw your face. I cannot but speak—we must part now and I must know if you care—ever so little. Dieu! how black the world was when I saw this tall, white lily! You told me last night that you were glad to have me go—I am a fool, no woman ever said that to the man she loved.�
He paused, and the leaves rustled overhead. Her face was averted and he could not see her eyes.
“Forgive me,� he said hoarsely; “I did not mean to speak—but one cannot always smother the heart’s utterances! You are so young, so beautiful, so innocent—forgive me, and let me serve you still.�
She turned and looked at him, but he could not read her eyes.
“You do not understand,� she replied softly. “I wanted you to go because—�
“You thought me a coward,� he exclaimed harshly.