"Pardon me, there are no conditions. Madame will please to remember I would accept none."
At this moment the carriage stopped at the point where Gabriel was at that instant about to pass.
"Let me go, sir—I will descend. Open the door, I am free—I insist, I desire to leave the carriage."
"No, no—pray be tranquil—it is impossible."
"I will descend, monsieur."
"Madame, you shall not."
He spoke with a good-humored and emphatic impudence which implied the most perfect resolution. A vague terror took possession of her. She rushed to the window, and Blassemare, with a gentle force, drew her back.
It was at that moment she saw Gabriel, and shrieked to him for help.
The coach was again thundering at a gallop along the highway. Lucille sank back in the corner, and wept with mingled anger and despair. Blassemare was not a ruffian, so he said, "Madame, calm yourself, I wish to treat you with respect; your suspicions wound me as much as your ingratitude. I hope, however, that both will vanish on reflection. In the meantime, I cannot consent to so insane a measure as your leaving the carriage. Your return to the Chateau des Anges is not to be thought of; you dare not go back; and pardon me, madame, I will not permit you to leave this carriage except for a place of safety and temporary concealment."
Lucille's haughty and fiery temper could hardly brook this hoity-toity assumption of authority. There was, however, an obvious vein of reason in what he said; and she saw, besides, the futility of contending with one whose will was probably as strong as her own, and backed with power to make it effectual. She therefore maintained a moody silence, and Blassemarre, deeming it best to suffer her ill-humor to expend itself harmlessly, awaited better moments in congenial taciturnity.