``I burn up twenty times a day,'' he continued, with a wave of the hand to express the completeness of the process; ``there is nothing left.I see her, I speak to her, and I burn up.''
``Have you had many tete-a-tetes?'' I asked.
``Not one,'' he retorted fiercely; ``do you think there is any sense in the damnable French custom? I am an honorable man, and, besides, I am not equipped for an elopement.No priest in Louisiana would marry us.Isee her at dinner, at supper.Sometimes we sew on the gallery,'' he went on, ``but I give you my oath that I have not had one word with her alone.''
``An oath is not necessary,'' I said.``But you seem to have made some progress nevertheless.''
``Do you call that progress?'' he demanded.
``It is surely not retrogression.''
``God knows what it is,'' said Nick, helplessly, ``but it's got to stop.I have sent her an ultimatum.''
``A what?''
``A summons.Her father and mother are going to the Bertrands' to-night, and I have written her a note to meet me in the garden.And you,'' he cried, rising and slapping me between the shoulders, ``you are to keep watch, like the dear, careful, canny, sly rascal you are.''
``And--and has she accepted?'' I inquired.
``That's the deuce of it,'' said he; ``she has not.But Ithink she'll come.''
I stood for a moment regarding him.
``And you really love Mademoiselle Antoinette?'' Iasked.
``Have I not exhausted the language?'' he answered.
``If what I have been through is not love, then may the Lord shield me from the real disease.''
``It may have been merely a light case of--tropical enthusiasm, let us say.I have seen others, a little milder because the air was more temperate.''
``Tropical--balderdash,'' he exploded.``If you are not the most exasperating, unfeeling man alive--''
``I merely wanted to know if you wished to marry Mademoiselle de St.Gre,'' I interrupted.
He gave me a look of infinite tolerance.
``Have I not made it plain that I cannot live without her?'' he said; ``if not, I will go over it all again.''
``That will not be necessary,'' I said hastily.
``The trouble may be,'' he continued, ``that they have already made one of their matrimonial contracts with a Granpre, a Beausejour, a Bernard.''
``Monsieur de St.Gre is a very sensible man,'' Ianswered.``He loves his daughter, and I doubt if he would force her to marry against her will.Tell me, Nick,''
I asked, laying my hand upon his shoulder, ``do you love this girl so much that you would let nothing come between you and her?''
``I tell you, I do; and again I tell you, I do,'' he replied.
He paused, suddenly glancing at my face, and added, ``Why do you ask, Davy?''
I stood irresolute, now that the time had come not daring to give voice to my suspicions.He had not spoken to me of his mother save that once, and I had no means of knowing whether his feeling for the girl might not soften his anger against her.I have never lacked the courage to come to the point, but there was still the chance that I might be mistaken in this after all.Would it not be best to wait until I had ascertained in some way the identity of Mrs.Clive? And while I stood debating, Nick regarding me with a puzzled expression, Monsieur de St.Gre appeared on the gallery.
``Come, gentlemen,'' he cried; ``dinner awaits us.''
The dining room at Les Iles was at the corner of the house, and its windows looked out on the gallery, which was shaded at that place by dense foliage.The room, like others in the house, seemed to reflect the decorous character of its owner.Two St.Gre's, indifferently painted, but rigorous and respectable, relieved the whiteness of the wall.They were the Commissary-general and his wife.The lattices were closed on one side, and in the deep amber light the family silver shone but dimly.
The dignity of our host, the evident ceremony of the meal, --which was attended by three servants,--would have awed into a modified silence at least a less irrepressible person than Nicholas Temple.But Nick was one to carry by storm a position which another might wait to reconnoitre.The first sensation of our host was no doubt astonishment, but he was soon laughing over a vivid account of our adventures on the keel boat.Nick's imitation of Xavier, and his description of Benjy's terrors after the storm, were so perfect that I laughed quite as heartily;and Madame de St.Gre wiped her eyes and repeated continually, ``Quel drole monsieur! it is thus he has entertained us since thou departed, Philippe.''
As for Mademoiselle, I began to think that Nick was not far wrong in his diagnosis.Training may have had something to do with it.She would not laugh, not she, but once or twice she raised her napkin to her face and coughed slightly.For the rest, she sat demurely, with her eyes on her plate, a model of propriety.Nick's sufferings became more comprehensible.
To give the devil his due, Nick had an innate tact which told him when to stop, and perhaps at this time Mademoiselle's superciliousness made him subside the more quickly.
After Monsieur de St.Gre had explained to me the horrors of the indigo pest and the futility of sugar raising, he turned to his daughter.
`` 'Toinette, where is Madame Clive?'' he asked.
The girl looked up, startled into life and interest at once.
``Oh, papa,'' she cried in French, ``we are so worried about her, mamma and I.It was the day you went away, the day these gentlemen came, that we thought she would take an airing.And suddenly she became worse.''
Monsieur de St.Gre turned with concern to his wife.
``I do not know what it is, Philippe,'' said that lady;``it seems to be mental.The loss of her husband weighs upon her, poor lady.But this is worse than ever, and she will lie for hours with her face turned to the wall, and not even Antoinette can arouse her.''
``I have always been able to comfort her before,'' said Antoinette, with a catch in her voice.
I took little account of what was said after that, my only notion being to think the problem out for myself, and alone.As I was going to my room Nick stopped me.
