“But you were going!” he cried, beside himself with apprehension at this new turning. “You told me that you were going.”
Truly, man is born without perception.
“Yes, I told you that,” she replied almost defiantly.
“And why were you going?” he demanded. Then I had a sudden desire to shake him.
Antoinette was mute.
“You yourself must find the answer to that question, Mr. Temple,” said the Vicomtesse, quietly.
He turned and stared at Hélène, and she seemed to smile. Then as his eyes went back, irresistibly, to the other, a light that was wonderful to see dawned and grew in them. I shall never forget him as he stood, handsome and fearless, a gentleman still, despite his years of wandering and adventure, and in this supreme moment unselfish. The wilful, masterful boy had become a man at last.
He started forward, stopped, trembling with a shock of remembrance, and gave back again.
“You cannot come,” he said; “I cannot let you take this risk. Tell her she cannot come, Madame,” he said to Hélène. “For the love of God send her home again.”
But there were forces which even Hélène could not stem. He had turned to go back, he had seized the door, but Antoinette was before him. Custom does not weigh at such a time. Had she not read his avowal? She had his hand in hers, heedless of us who watched. At first he sought to free himself, but she clung to it with all the strength of her love,—yet she did not look up at him.