"Then, tell me. No, now,—at once."
He sat up and extracted a paper from his waistcoat pocket. It set forth that the Citizen Lemoine and his wife were at liberty to travel in France at their pleasure.
"In France," said Aline.
"Why, yes, one can't advertise oneself as an emigré. Once on the frontier, one must make a dash for it,—it's done every day."
"But it says his wife," objected Marguerite, "and I 'm not your wife."
"And I 'm not Lemoine, but it does n't hurt my conscience to say I am,—not in the least," returned Mr. Desmond.
"But I can't go with you like that," she protested. "What would grandmamma have said?"
Mr. Desmond gave an ironical laugh. "Your sainted grandmamma is past knowing what we do, and we 're past the conventions, my dear," he observed, but she only sat up the straighter.
"Indeed, Monsieur, you may be, but I 'm not. Why, there was Julie de Lérac, who escaped with her brother's friend. It was when I was in prison, and I heard what grandmamma and the other ladies said of her. Nothing would induce me to be spoken of like that."
"But your life depends on it. Marguerite, don't you trust me?"