The Frenchman bows still lower.
‘My Madeline will not trouble herself so much on my account,’ he says. ‘I have won a leetle of Madeline’s esteem—and so I have my reward. And now I have a leetle favour to ask for in return.’
Madeline’s face falls, and though he does not appear to be looking at her he notices it in a moment.
‘Do not be afraid,’ he continues, reassuringly, but keeping at a respectful distance from her. ‘My request is for your good. It is this—that you promise me to remain quietly here for an hour or two; say nothing to any one, and not to make arrangements about the journey to-morrow: all that shall be done for you. At the end of two hours, say, I will return. I will bring with me the respectable lady I have mentioned—and then, with my Madeline’s permission, I will make my adieux.’
‘Make your adieux?—ah, M’sieur, I am so sorry for you——’
‘Do not talk of me! I shall find another appointment. You will give the promise which I ask of you?’
‘Yes.’
He takes her hand, bends over it, and kisses it—and leaves the girl alone.
For a time Madeline stands quite still, stupefied by the very intensity of her relief. She rests her elbow on the mantelpiece, drops her cheeks upon her hands, and fixes her eyes upon the windows, as if to watch the slowly gathering gloom. She feels no self-pity; on the events which will probably transpire on the morrow her imagination refuses to dwell; she can think only of M’sieur Belleisle—of his goodness, his self-sacrifice, his devotion. During the whole time of their acquaintance Madeline has never thought so highly of her tutor as she does at this moment—when she is preparing, as she thinks, to plunge him into ruin.
Her meditations having reached this point are interrupted. The door of the salle à manger opens, and the Englishman re-enters the room. He is dressed for travelling; he looks around as if searching for something, then he paused before the girl.