Mirelle gasped for breath. She put her hand to the window.
'You want air,' said the Captain. 'I will let down the glasses.'
Mirelle thanked him with a bend of the head; she could not speak. A great terror had come over her.
'When you came,' continued Trecarrel, 'then I woke to the fact that I had never loved Orange. I had admired her beauty as I might admire a well-built horse or spaniel, but my heart had not been touched.'
'Oh, Mr. Trecarrel!' exclaimed Mirelle, putting her white fingers together, 'let me out of the carriage. I must walk; I shall faint; I feel very ill.'
'Dear Mirelle—you will let me call you Mirelle?—you must not walk; you are not strong enough.'
'I pray you! I pray you!'
Then he stopped the coach, opened the door, and had the steps lowered.
'The lady is faint. Go slowly, coachman. She wishes to walk a little way.'
Then he helped Mirelle to alight, and pressed her fingers as he did so, and looked at her tenderly out of his beautiful blue eyes.