The Crossing [183]
said he, ``I did not for a moment think it could have been a love match.''
Mademoiselle turned away and laughed.
``You are the very strangest man I have ever seen,'' she said.
``Shall I give you my notion of a love match, Mademoiselle?'' said Nick.
``I should think you might be well versed in the subject, Monsieur,'' she answered, speaking to the tree, ``but here is scarcely the time and place.'' She wound up her sewing, and faced him. ``I must really leave you,'' she said.
He took a step towards her and stood looking down into her face. Her eyes dropped.
``And am I never to see you again?'' he asked.
Monsieur!'' she cried softly, ``I do not know who you are.'' She made him a courtesy, took a few steps in the opposite path, and turned. ``That depends upon your ingenuity,'' she added; ``you seem to have no lack of it, Monsieur.''
Nick was transported.
``You must not go,'' he cried.
``Must not? How dare you speak to me thus, Monsieur?'' Then she tempered it. ``There is a lady here whom I love, and who is ill. I must not be long from her bedside.''
``She is very ill?'' said Nick, probably for want of something better.
``She is not really ill, Monsieur, but depressed--is not that the word? She is a very dear friend, and she has had trouble--so much, Monsieur,--and my mother brought her here. We love her as one of the family.''
This was certainly ingenuous, and it was plain that the girl gave us this story through a certain nervousness, for she twisted her sewing in her fingers as she spoke.
``Mademoiselle,'' said Nick, ``I would not keep you from such an errand of mercy.''
She gave him a grateful look, more dangerous than any which had gone before.
``And besides,'' he went on, ``we have come to stay awhile with you, Mr. Ritchie and myself.''
``You have come to stay awhile?'' she said.
I thought it time that the farce were ended.
``We have come with letters to your father, Monsieur de Saint-Gre, Mademoiselle,'' I said, ``and I should like very much to see him, if he is at leisure.''
Mademoiselle stared at me in unfeigned astonishment.
``But did you not meet him, Monsieur?'' she demanded.
``He left an hour ago for New Orleans. You must have met a gentleman riding very fast.''
It was my turn to be astonished.
``But that was not your father!'' I exclaimed.
``Et pourquoi non?'' she said.
``Is not your father the stout gentleman whom I saw with you on the levee last evening?'' I asked.
She laughed.
``You have been observing, Monsieur,'' she said.
``That was my uncle, Monsieur de Beausejour. You saw me quarrelling with my brother, Auguste,'' she went on a little excitedly. ``Oh, I am very much ashamed of it. I was so angry. My cousin, Mademoiselle Helene de Saint-Gre, has just sent me from France such a beautiful miniature, and Auguste fell in love with it.''
``Fell in love with it!'' I exclaimed involuntarily.
``You should see it, Monsieur, and I think you also would fall in love with it.''
``I have not a doubt of it,'' said Nick.
Mademoiselle made the faintest of moues.
``Auguste is very wild, as you say,'' she continued, addressing me, ``he is a great care to my father. He intrigues, you know, he wishes Louisiane to become French once more,--as we all do. But I should not say this, Monsieur,'' she added in a startled tone. ``You will not tell? No, I know you will not. We do not like the Spaniards. They killed my grandfather when they came to take the province. And once, the Governor-general Miro sent for my father and declared he would put Auguste in prison if he did not behave himself. But I have forgotten the miniature. When Auguste saw that he fell in love with it, and now he wishes to go to France and obtain a commission through our cousin, the Marquis of Saint-Gre, and marry Mademoiselle Helene.''
``A comprehensive programme, indeed,'' said Nick.
``My father has gone back to New Orleans,'' she said, ``to get the miniature from Auguste. He took it from me, Monsieur.'' She raised her head a little
Mademoiselle turned away and laughed.
``You are the very strangest man I have ever seen,'' she said.
``Shall I give you my notion of a love match, Mademoiselle?'' said Nick.
``I should think you might be well versed in the subject, Monsieur,'' she answered, speaking to the tree, ``but here is scarcely the time and place.'' She wound up her sewing, and faced him. ``I must really leave you,'' she said.
He took a step towards her and stood looking down into her face. Her eyes dropped.
``And am I never to see you again?'' he asked.
Monsieur!'' she cried softly, ``I do not know who you are.'' She made him a courtesy, took a few steps in the opposite path, and turned. ``That depends upon your ingenuity,'' she added; ``you seem to have no lack of it, Monsieur.''
Nick was transported.
``You must not go,'' he cried.
``Must not? How dare you speak to me thus, Monsieur?'' Then she tempered it. ``There is a lady here whom I love, and who is ill. I must not be long from her bedside.''
``She is very ill?'' said Nick, probably for want of something better.
``She is not really ill, Monsieur, but depressed--is not that the word? She is a very dear friend, and she has had trouble--so much, Monsieur,--and my mother brought her here. We love her as one of the family.''
This was certainly ingenuous, and it was plain that the girl gave us this story through a certain nervousness, for she twisted her sewing in her fingers as she spoke.
``Mademoiselle,'' said Nick, ``I would not keep you from such an errand of mercy.''
She gave him a grateful look, more dangerous than any which had gone before.
``And besides,'' he went on, ``we have come to stay awhile with you, Mr. Ritchie and myself.''
``You have come to stay awhile?'' she said.
I thought it time that the farce were ended.
``We have come with letters to your father, Monsieur de Saint-Gre, Mademoiselle,'' I said, ``and I should like very much to see him, if he is at leisure.''
Mademoiselle stared at me in unfeigned astonishment.
``But did you not meet him, Monsieur?'' she demanded.
``He left an hour ago for New Orleans. You must have met a gentleman riding very fast.''
It was my turn to be astonished.
``But that was not your father!'' I exclaimed.
``Et pourquoi non?'' she said.
``Is not your father the stout gentleman whom I saw with you on the levee last evening?'' I asked.
She laughed.
``You have been observing, Monsieur,'' she said.
``That was my uncle, Monsieur de Beausejour. You saw me quarrelling with my brother, Auguste,'' she went on a little excitedly. ``Oh, I am very much ashamed of it. I was so angry. My cousin, Mademoiselle Helene de Saint-Gre, has just sent me from France such a beautiful miniature, and Auguste fell in love with it.''
``Fell in love with it!'' I exclaimed involuntarily.
``You should see it, Monsieur, and I think you also would fall in love with it.''
``I have not a doubt of it,'' said Nick.
Mademoiselle made the faintest of moues.
``Auguste is very wild, as you say,'' she continued, addressing me, ``he is a great care to my father. He intrigues, you know, he wishes Louisiane to become French once more,--as we all do. But I should not say this, Monsieur,'' she added in a startled tone. ``You will not tell? No, I know you will not. We do not like the Spaniards. They killed my grandfather when they came to take the province. And once, the Governor-general Miro sent for my father and declared he would put Auguste in prison if he did not behave himself. But I have forgotten the miniature. When Auguste saw that he fell in love with it, and now he wishes to go to France and obtain a commission through our cousin, the Marquis of Saint-Gre, and marry Mademoiselle Helene.''
``A comprehensive programme, indeed,'' said Nick.
``My father has gone back to New Orleans,'' she said, ``to get the miniature from Auguste. He took it from me, Monsieur.'' She raised her head a little