"No, monsieur," she answered, in as low a tone as his, "but, as you said, I am very recently from school. I have often studied the maps at the convent I left but yesterday."
The conversation thus entered upon continued during the whole afternoon, and was marked by an uninterrupted progress in mutual acquaintance and confidence. Under certain conditions, and between congenial persons, a closer intimacy may be reached in a half day's fellow-travelling than may otherwise be attained in a lifetime of occasional meetings. By the time the diligence neared Abbeville la Pucelle, Dick was the young lady's confidant as to these facts:
She was leaving her convent school to be married in Paris to a Chevalier of St. Louis, whom she regarded with aversion for the reason that he was almost old enough to be her grandfather. The marriage had been arranged by her father, an officer of the regiment of Picardy, whose sister was the old lady now taking her to Paris. With such antipathy and dread did the girl look forward to the marriage, that she had almost dared to meditate rebellion and flight, for she was not closely attached to her father, whose military duties kept him away from her, and she inherited from her dead mother a moderate fortune that could not be alienated from her. But she was under the domination of her aunt, who had helped arrange the marriage, the girl's father being on service.
"What else can I do?" she asked Dick, helplessly. "I dare not disobey my aunt, I have not the courage to resist her. I have felt like one half dead, since I left the convent, and in that condition I shall be led passively through it all, till I find myself—oh, how can I endure it?"
"You shall not!" said Dick, with impulsive eagerness to play the chivalrous part. "You must not! I will save you from the intolerable fate!"
The girl looked at him in wonder. "If you could!" she whispered slowly, half in despair, half in newly risen hope.
At that moment, the diligence coming to a stop at the post inn at Abbeville, the aunt showed signs of waking. "Rely on me, I shall not desert you!" whispered Dick, and then very gallantly stooped and restored a handkerchief dropped by the aunt in the act of waking.
That evening, while Sir Hilary celebrated in many bumpers the beauty of the girls of Abbeville, Dick thought over the situation of her whose eyes made the Abbeville virgins colorless and uninteresting. The only practicable way for her to avoid the marriage was by physical flight. She might become a nun, but Dick could not tolerate the idea of so much charm buried for life in a convent, and she herself had not spoken of such a refuge. She might have friends or relations who would shelter and conceal her in her rebellion. But if this were not the case she would have only the protection and guidance of Dick, and there was but one condition on which she could accept those with safety to her honor. Well, Dick was not a man to turn back after having given his assurance; the girl was certainly charming and amiable, she had a small fortune to ensure her own comfort, and the thought of her perturbing glances reserved exclusively for some other man filled Dick with a kind of chagrin. Moreover, her name was Collette, and she looked the name.
The next day he got no chance to speak to her until the afternoon. Then, protected as before by the slumbering aunt on one side and the drowsy baronet on the other, the young people resumed their conversation. Was she still as much opposed to the marriage as ever? Oh, decidedly, far more so!—with a little terrified look at Dick. Had she any friends to whom she might go? None who would not betray her. No refuge whatever in mind? None whatever. Would she risk her father's displeasure and her aunt's, provided there were some one to stand between her and that displeasure? Why, yes, if such a situation were possible,—anything rather than the marriage. Would she be resigned to a marriage with a younger gentleman? Why, yes, if—that is to say—if—
"If," said Dick, in low tones, but with all due signs of feeling, "if the gentleman were an American, carried from his country by the wind of circumstance, with nothing in the world but the clothes on his back, a few louis in his pocket, and some land in the wilderness of Pennsylvania, but with a prospect of honorable employment for his country on reaching Paris, and with a hand that could be turned to anything and would ever be devoted to your honor and happiness?"