Again he paused; and again Madeline looked at him inquiringly. What did it all mean? He was evidently afraid to speak on without some encouragement from her; and the encouragement was given.
Her curiosity being aroused, she argued within herself it could do her no possible harm just to hear what he had to propose.
‘Well, M’sieur?* she cried, and Belleisle spoke on. His demand was simple in itself and easily acceded to. He would take his Madeline to Paris in a few days, he said; deck her in silks, satins, and jewels; give her a season of genuine Parisian life—if she would but consent to remove that frail band of gold from the third finger of her left hand; call her husband “Cousin,” Madame de Fontenay “Maman,” until the prescribed year had come to an end.
Madeline heard him without comment, and remained silent after he had ceased to speak. What could she do? Her conscience urged her not to accept. The man had deceived her infamously already, and would not scruple to do so again; but then she remembered the letter which she had received that morning, and the voice within her was hushed. After all, she said to herself, what harm could come of it; she was secure against calumny, for she was in reality Madame Belleisle—so that should the worst come, and her relationship to the man be discovered, no one could possibly blame her. And if she refused, what was the alternative? To live alone by the sea during all the long, weary winter months, with such a past to reflect on—and not a soul either to share her sorrows or her moments of calmness and peace. The prospect was so dismal that the girl shuddered, and, looking into her husband’s face, said hurriedly, as if she had strange misgivings of herself—
‘I consent, Monsieur, I consent—only let us get away from this place, and perhaps the excitement of the journey will take away this load from my heart.’
Just a week from that day three travellers were journeying towards the gay French capital; their names were—the Vicomte de Belleisle, for the Frenchman professed to inherit a title with his fortune; Madame and Mademoiselle de Fontenay.
CHAPTER XV.—BELLEISLE SPREADS HIS NET.
Madeline—I wish you to do me a favour?’