His tears suddenly ceased; his hand closed convulsively on mine. "Don't speak of her," he cried, with an outburst of anger. "You were right about her, David. She is a false woman." As the words passed his lips, he changed again. His voice faltered; he seemed to be frightened by his own violent language. "Oh, what am I talking about! what right have I to say that of her! I am a brute—I am reviling the best of women. It was all my fault, David—I have acted like a madman, like a fool. Oh, my boy! my boy!—would you believe it?—I asked her to marry me!"
It is needless to say that I wanted no further explanation. "Did she encourage you to ask her?" I inquired.
"I thought she did, David—I thought I would be clever and seize the opportunity. She said she wanted to consult me. She said: 'Mr. Keller has asked me to stay here, and keep house for you; I have not given my answer yet, I have waited to know if you approved it.' Upon that, I said the rash words. I asked her to be more than our housekeeper—to be my wife. I am naturally stupid," said the poor simple gentleman; "whenever I try to do anything clever I always fail. She was very forbearing with me at first; she said No, but she said it considerately, as if she felt for me. I presumed on her kindness, like a fool; I couldn't help it, David, I was so fond of her. I pressed her to say why she refused me. I was mad enough to ask if there was some other man whom she preferred. Oh, she said some hard things to me in her anger! And, worse still, when I went down on my knees to her, she said, 'Get up, you old fool!'—and laughed—and left me. Take me away somewhere, David; I am too old to get over it, if I stay here. I can never see her or speak to her again. Take me to England with you—and, oh, don't tell Keller!"
He burst into another fit of tears. It was dreadful to see and hear him.
I tried to think of some consoling words. Before I could give expression to my thought, the door of the room was gently opened; and Madame Fontaine herself stood before us. Her eyes looked at Mr. Engelman from under their heavy lids, with a quiet and scornful compassion. The poor wretch was of no further use to her. Quite needless to be on her best behavior with him now!
"There is not the least occasion, sir, to disturb yourself," she said. "It is my duty to leave the house—and I will do it."
Without waiting to be answered, she turned back to the door, and left us.
CHAPTER XXII
"For heaven's sake, sir, allow me to go!"