Chapter 10 - Page 2

away."

"What does it matter to you? You are going yourself."

"As I am going in a different direction that makes all the greater
separation."

She answered nothing; she stood looking through the bars of the tall
gate at the empty, dusky street. "This grille is like a cage," she
said, at last.

"Fortunately, it is a cage that will open." And I laid my hand on
the lock.

"Don't open it," and she pressed the gate back. "If you should open
it I would go out--and never return."

"Where should you go?"

"To America."

"Straight away?"

"Somehow or other. I would go to the American consul. I would beg
him to give me money--to help me."

I received this assertion without a smile; I was not in a smiling
humour. On the contrary, I felt singularly excited, and I kept my
hand on the lock of the gate. I believed (or I thought I believed)
what my companion said, and I had--absurd as it may appear--an
irritated vision of her throwing herself upon consular sympathy. It
seemed to me, for a moment, that to pass out of that gate with this
yearning, straining, young creature, would be to pass into some
mysterious felicity. If I were only a hero of romance, I would
offer, myself, to take her to America.

In a moment more, perhaps, I should have persuaded myself that I was
one, but at this juncture I heard a sound that was not romantic. It
proved to be the very realistic tread of Celestine, the cook, who
stood grinning at us as we turned about from our colloquy.

"I ask bien pardon," said Celestine. "The mother of Mademoiselle
desires that Mademoiselle should come in immediately. M. le Pasteur
Galopin has come to make his adieux to ces dames."

Aurora gave me only one glance, but it was a touching one. Then she
slowly departed with Celestine.

The next morning, on coming into the garden, I found that Mrs. Church
and her daughter had departed. I was informed of this fact by old M.
Pigeonneau, who sat there under a tree, having his coffee at a little
green table.

"I have nothing to envy you," he said; "I had the last glimpse of
that charming Miss Aurora."

"I had a very late glimpse," I answered, "and it was all I could
possibly desire."

"I have always noticed," rejoined M. Pigeonneau, "That your desires
are more moderate than mine. Que voulez-vous? I am of the old
school. Je crois que la race se perd. I regret the departure of
that young girl: she had an enchanting smile. Ce sera une femme
d'esprit. For the mother, I can console myself. I am not sure