"Then you will discard my protection, and accept his, a stranger's?"
"Yes, because he is a stranger,—thank God!"
What, I asked myself, was to be the end of this? Would she not, on learning that La Tournoire was myself, all the more decidedly insist on going her own way? Therefore, before disclosing myself to her, I must accustom her to the view that a difference in religion ought not to separate two who love each other. In order to do this, I must have time; so I said:
"At least, mademoiselle, you will let me show you the way to Maury, and present to you the Sieur de la Tournoire. That is little to ask."
"I have already accepted too much from you," she replied, hesitating.
"Then cancel the obligation by granting me this one favor."
"Very well, monsieur. But you will then go immediately?"
"From the moment when you first meet La Tournoire, he shall be your only guide, unless you yourself choose another. In the meantime," I added, for she had taken another step towards the inn, "grant me at least as much of your society as you would bestow on an indifferent acquaintance, who happened to be your fellow-traveler in this lonely place."
She gave a sigh which I took as meaning that the more we should see each other, the harder the parting would be at last, but she said, tremulously:
"We shall meet at supper, monsieur, and to-morrow, when you conduct me on to Maury." Then she entered the inn, but stopped on the threshold, and, casting on me a strangely wistful look, she added, "Great must be the friendship between you and La Tournoire, that you can so confidently assure his protection to those for whom you ask it."