and forced about her which is quite foreign to
her usual manner. Then the next minute she relapses into a state of
melancholy, which I never noticed before the famous night in the forest.
You may be certain that night was a terrible experience."
"True, she was obliged to witness a frightful scene at Gazeau Tower,"
said M. de la Marche; "and then she must have been very much exhausted
and frightened when her horse bolted from the field and galloped right
through the forest. Yet her pluck is so remarkable that . . . What do
you think, my dear Monsieur Bernard? When you met her in the forest, did
she seem very frightened?"
"In the forest?" I said. "I did not meet her in the forest at all."
"No; it was in Varenne that you met her, wasn't it?"
The abbe hastened to intervene. . . . "By-the-bye, Monsieur Bernard, can
you spare me a minute to talk over a little matter connected with your
property at . . ."
Hereupon he drew me out of the drawing-room, and said in a low voice:
"There is no question of business; I only want to beg of you not to let
a single soul, not even M. de la Marche, suspect that Mademoiselle de
Mauprat was at Roche-Mauprat for the fraction of a second."
"And why?" I asked. "Was she not under my protection there? Did she
not leave it pure, thanks to me? Must it not be well known to the
neighbourhood that she passed two hours there?"
"At present no one knows," he answered. "At the very moment she left it,
Roche-Mauprat fell before the attack of the police, and not one of its
inmates will return from the grave or from exile to proclaim the fact.
When you know the world better, you will understand how important it
is for the reputation of a young lady that none should have reason
to suppose that even a shadow of danger has fallen upon her honour.
Meanwhile, I implore you, in the name of her father, in the name of
the affection for her which you expressed this morning in so noble and
touching a manner . . ."
"You are very clever, Monsieur l'Abbe," I said, interrupting him. "All
your words have a hidden meaning which I can grasp perfectly well,
clown as I am. Tell my cousin that she may set her mind at ease. I have
nothing to say against her virtue, that is very certain; and I trust
I am not capable of spoiling the marriage she desires. Tell her that I
claim but one thing of her, the fulfilment of that promise of friendship
which she made me at Roche-Mauprat."
"In your eyes, then, that promis
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