'

'Ah! but there's worse for me,' sighed Victorine. 'This demon brought
another to stare in my face--I know he wants to make me his wife! Kill
me first, Laurent.'

'It is I that would rather espouse you, my jewel,' returned a tender
whisper.

'How can you talk of such things at such a moment?'

''Tis a pity M. l'Abbe is not a priest,' sighed Lanty. 'But, you know,
Victorine, who is the boy you always meant to take.'

'You need not be so sure of that,' she said, the coy coquetry not quite
extinct.

'Come, as you said, it is no time for fooling. Give me your word and
troth to be my wife so soon as we have the good luck to come by a
Christian priest by our Lady's help, and I'll outface them all--were it
Mohammed the Prophet himself, that you are my espoused and betrothed, and
woe to him that puts a finger on you.'

'You would only get yourself killed.'

'And would not I be proud to be killed for your sake? Besides, I'll show
them cause not to kill me if I have the chance. Trust me, Victorine, my
darling--it is but a chance among these murdering villains, but it is the
only one; and, sure, if you pretended to turn the back of your hand to me
when there were plenty of Christian men to compliment you, yet you would
rather have poor Lanty than a thundering rogue of a pagan Mohammedan.'

'I hope I shall die,' sighed poor Victorine faintly. 'It will only be
your death!'

'That is my affair,' responded Lanty. 'Come, here's daylight coming in;
reach me your hand before this _canaille_ wakes, and here's this good
beast of a dog, and yonder grave old goat with a face like Pere Michel's
for our witnesses--and by good luck, here's a bit of gilt wire off my
shoulder-knot that I've made into a couple of rings while I've been
speaking.'

The strange betrothal had barely taken place before there was a stir, and
what was no doubt a yelling imprecation on the 'dog Giaours' for the
noise they made.

The morning began as before, with the exception that Estelle had
established a certain understanding with a little chocolate-coloured
cupid of a boy of the size of her brother, and his lesser sister, by
letting them stroke her hair, and showing them the mysteries of cat's
cradle. They shared their gourd of goat's-milk with her, but would not
let her give any to her companions. However, the Abbe had only to hold
out his hand to be fed, and the others were far too anxious to care much
about their food.

A much larger nu