“I will wait, Paul, as I promised you,” she said sadly; “one year—no, two years—before I redeem my pledge and become his wife. That is all I can do—and that I can do. I choose to believe that you would have obeyed me and gone away at once, if we had not been interrupted. Therefore I keep my promise to you. It was not your fault that you were not permitted to obey me.”
I was quite at the end of my tether, though my resolution rose again to full stature on learning that I should have time—time to plan anew. She held out her hand. “Good-by, and God keep you, my dear friend!” said she very softly.
I looked around. The squad had halted near by. Some were looking, curse them! But that most decent officer had his back turned, and was intently scanning the weather. I lifted her hand to my lips.
“My—wife!” I muttered, unfalteringly obstinate.
“No!” she said sadly. “Only your friend. Oh, leave me that!”
And she was gone, a Psyche glimmering away through the dark which strove to cling to her.
I stood for a moment, eyes and heart straining after her. Then I turned as the guard came up.
“At your service, monsieur,” said I.
Chapter XXVI
The Chapel Prison
Before the door of the chapel stood a bent old figure hooded in a red shawl. Muttering, and with bowed head, it poked in the dust with a staff. When we were close at hand it straightened alertly; and old Mother Pêche’s startling eyes flashed into mine. I could have kissed the strange hawk face, so glad was I to see it. And I held out my hand, to be clutched eagerly.