“Your word of honour,” repeated he; “but what is that? You did not drink out of the same cup; you have not broken a ring together, or a branch of the red-blossomed maple?”
“No, we have done none of these things.”
“Well, then, what binds you to him?”
“My honour!”
“I cannot understand you; nothing pledges you to Biassou; come with us?”
“I cannot, my brother, for I am bound by my promise.”
“No, you are not bound,” cried he, angrily. “Sister, add your prayers to mine, and entreat your husband not to leave you. He wishes to return to the negro camp from which I rescued him, on the plea that he has promised to place his life in Biassou’s hands.”
“What have you done?” cried I.
It was too late to stay the effects of the generous impulse that had prompted him to endeavour to save the life of his rival by the help of her he loved. Marie cast herself into my arms with a cry of anguish, her hands clasped my neck, and she hung upon my breast, speechless and breathless.
“Oh, my Leopold, what does he say?” murmured she, at last. “Is he not deceiving me? It is not immediately after our reunion that you must quit me again. Answer me quickly or I shall die. You have no right to throw away your life, for you have given it to me. You would not leave me, never to see me again.”