And with a string of similar incoherent phrases he made his exit.
I stepped up to the door and looked after, to see which way he would take. He walked direct to the house! I saw him go in!
This visit and its object had taken me by surprise, though I had not been without some anticipation of such an event. The conversation I had overheard between him and the doctor rendered it probable that such would be the result; though I hardly expected being obliged to change my quarters so soon. For another week or two I had intended to stay where I was. When quite recovered, I should have moved to the hotel of my own accord.
I felt vexed, and for several reasons. It chagrined me to think that this wretch possessed such a controlling influence; for I did not believe that Mademoiselle Besançon had anything to do with my removal. Quite the contrary. She had visited me but a few hours before, and not a word had been said of the matter. Perhaps she might have thought of it, and did not desire to mention it? But no. This could hardly be. I noticed no change in her manner during the interview. The same kindness—the same interest in my recovery—the same solicitude about the little arrangements of my food and attendance, were shown by her up to the last moment. She evidently contemplated no change so sudden as that proposed by Gayarre. Reflection convinced me that the proposal had been made without any previous communication with her.
What must be the influence of this man, that he dare thus step between her and the rites of hospitality? It was a painful thought to me, to see this fair creature in the power of such a villain.
But another thought was still more painful—the thought of parting with Aurore. Though I did not fancy that parting was to be for ever. No! Had I believed that, I should not have yielded so easily. I should have put Monsieur Dominique to the necessity of a positive expulsion. Of course, I had no apprehension that by removing to the village I should be debarred from visiting the plantation as often as I felt inclined. Had that been the condition, my reflections would have been painful indeed.
After all, the change would signify little. I should return as a visitor, and in that character be more independent than as a guest—more free, perhaps, to approach the object of my love! I could come as often as I pleased. The same opportunities of seeing her would still be open to me. I wanted but one—one moment alone with Aurore—and then bliss or blighted hopes!
But there were other considerations that troubled me at this moment. How was I to live at the hotel? Would the proprietor believe in promises, and wait until my letters, already sent off, could be answered? Already I had been provided with suitable apparel, mysteriously indeed. I awoke one morning and found it by my bedside. I made no inquiry as to how it came there. That would be an after-consideration; but with regard to money, how was that to be obtained? Must I become her debtor? Or am I to be under obligations to Gayarre? Cruel dilemma!
At this juncture I thought of Reigart. His calm, kind face came up before me.
“An alternative!” soliloquised I; “he will help me!”