He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and forwards
uneasily through the grotto. He did love her;--love her as such men
do love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her hand, the affection
of her touch, the pure bright passion of her tear-laden eye had re-
awakened what power of love there was within him. But what was he to
do? Even if he were willing to give up the immediate golden hopes
which his mother held out to him, how was he to begin, and then how
carry out this work of self-devotion? Marie would be turned away,
and he would be left a victim in the hands of his mother, and of that
stiff, wooden-legged militaire;--a penniless victim, left to mope
about the place without a grain of influence or a morsel of pleasure.

"But what can we do?" he exclaimed again, as he once more met Marie's
searching eye.

"We can be true and honest, and we can wait," she said, coming close
up to him and taking hold of his arm. "I do not fear it; and she is
not my mother, Adolphe. You need not fear your own mother."

"Fear! no, of course I don't fear. But I don't see how the very
devil we can manage it."

"Will you let me tell her that I will not marry the capitaine; that I
will not give up your promises; and then I am ready to leave the
house?"

"It would do no good."

"It would do every good, Adolphe, if I had your promised word once
more; if I could hear from your own voice one more tone of love. Do