"Where are—"
"Gone," he shouted, waving his arms. "Cast into the flames, and rent in twain, and scattered to the winds of Heaven."
He laughed, seeing that she did not understand, and poured out a jorum of coffee.
"The farcical comedy is over, Blanquette," said he gently, "I'm a Monsieur no longer, do you see? We are going to live just as we did before you went away in the summer, and I am not going to be married. I am going to live with my little Blanquette for ever and ever in sæculo sæculorum, amen."
She turned as white as the coffee jug. I thought she was about to faint and caught her in my arms. She did not faint, but burying her head against my shoulder burst into a passion of tears.
"What the devil's the matter?" asked Paragot. "Are you sorry I'm not going to be married?"
"Mais non, mais non!" Blanquette sobbed out vehemently.
"I think she's rather glad, Master," said I.
He put down his coffee-cup, and laid his hands on her as if to draw her comfortingly away from me.
"My dear child—" he began.