"Ask the vicomte," cried Schmidt. "He will tell you."
"Oh, will he, indeed?" said René, laughing. "Ah, I am quite out of breath."
"Then rest a little." As they halted, a swift skater, seeking the loneliness of the river below the town, approaching, spoke to Margaret, and then said: "Ah, Mr. Schmidt, what luck to find you! You were to give me a lesson. Why not now?"
"Come, then," returned Schmidt. "I brought you hither, René, because it is safer away from clumsy learners, and where we are the ice is safe. I was over it yesterday, but do not go far. I shall be back in a few minutes. If Margaret is tired, move up the river. I shall find you."
"Please not to be long," said Margaret.
"Make him tell you when your wicked Delaware was not my friend, and another was. Make him tell."
As he spoke, he was away behind young Mr. Morris, singing in his lusty bass snatches of German song and thinking of the ripe mischief of the trap he had baited with a nice little Cupid. "I want it to come soon," he said, "before I go. She will be curious and venture in, and it will be as good as the apple with knowledge of good and—no, there is evil in neither."
She was uneasy, she scarce knew why. Still at rest on the ice, she turned to De Courval. "Thou wilt tell me?" she said.
"I had rather not."
"But if I ask thee?"