“Paul,” said he, when I had finished, “my heart has now the first happiness it has known through all these dreadful months. But you must slip out of this doomed country without an hour’s delay. Quebec, of course! And then, when an end is made here, I will join you. Have you money for the journey?”
I laughed softly.
“My plans are not quite formed. I must see Yvonne. Will you fetch her to me?”
He rose in anger—a little forced, I thought.
“No!” said he.
“Then, I beseech you, give her a message from me, that I may see her for a little this very day.”
“Paul,” he cried passionately, “it is a sin to talk of it. She has pledged her troth. She is at peace. I will not have her disturbed.”
“Does she love him?” I asked.
“I—I suppose so. Or she will, doubtless,” he stammered.
“Oh, doubtless!” said I. “And meanwhile, does she show readiness to carry out her promise? Does she listen kindly to her impatient lover—her anxious father?”