"Never," said Mimi, innocently, "after you came."
As she said this, a flush pa.s.sed over her lovely face, and she looked away confused. Claude seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips.
They then walked on in silence for some time. At last Claude spoke again.
"The ship will not leave for six weeks. If I were alone, I think I should go back to Boston. But if you go to France, I shall go, too.
Have you ever thought of what you will do when you get there?"
"I suppose I shall have to go to France," said Mimi; "but why should you think of going to Boston? Are you not going on your family business?"
"I am not," said Claude. "I am only going because you are going. As to my family business, I have forgotten all about it; and, indeed, I very much doubt whether I could do anything at all. I do not even know how I am to begin. But I wish to see you safe and happy among your friends."
Mimi looked at him in sad surprise.
"I do not know whether I have any friends or not," said she. "I have only one relative, whom I have never seen. I had intended to go to her. I do not know what I shall do. If this aunt is willing to take me, I shall live with her; but she is not very rich, and I may be a burden."
"A burden!" said Claude; "that is impossible! And besides, such a great heiress as you will be welcome wherever you go."
He spoke this with a touch of bitterness in his voice; for Mimi"s supposed possessions seemed to him to be the chief barrier between himself and her.
"A great heiress!" said Mimi, sadly. "I don"t know what put that into your head. Unfortunately, as far as I know, I have nothing. My papa sold all his estates, and had all his money on board the Arethuse. It was all lost in the ship, and though I was an heiress when I left home, I shall go back nothing better than a beggar, to beg a home from my unknown aunt. Or," she continued, "if my aunt shows no affection, it is my intention to go back to the convent of St.
Cecilia, where I was educated, and I know they will be glad to have me; and I could not find a better home for the rest of my life than among those dear sisters who love me so well."
"O, Mimi," he cried, "O, what joy it is to hear that you are a beggar! Mimi, Mimi! I have always felt that you were far above me--too far for me to raise my thoughts to you. Mimi, you are a beggar, and not an heiress! You must not go to France. I will not go.
Let us remain together. I can be more to you than any friend. Come with me. Be mine. O, let me spend my life in trying to show you how I love you!"
He spoke these words quickly, feverishly, and pa.s.sionately, seizing her hand in both of his. He had never called her before by her name; but now he called her by it over and over, with loving intonations.
Mimi had hardly been prepared for this; but though unprepared, she was not offended. On the contrary, she looked up at him with a face that told him more than words could convey. He could not help reading its eloquent meaning. Her glance penetrated to his heart--her soul spoke to his. He caught her in his arms, and little Mimi leaned her head on his breast and wept.
But from this dream of hope and happiness they were destined to have a sudden and very rude awakening. There was a sound in the shrubbery behind them, and a voice said, in a low, cautious tone,--
"H-s-s-t!"
At this they both started, and turned. It was the Pere Michel.
Both started as they saw him, partly from surprise, and partly, also, from the shock which they felt at the expression of his face. He was pale and agitated, and the calmness and self-control which usually characterized him had departed.
"My dear friend," said Claude, hurriedly, turning towards him and seizing his hand, "what is the matter? Are you not well? Has anything happened? You are agitated. What is the matter?"
"The very worst," said Pere Michel--"M. de Cazeneau!"
"What of him? Why, he is dead!"
"Dead? No; he is alive. Worse--he is here--here--in Louisbourg. I have just seen him!"
"What!" cried Claude, starting back, "M. de Cazeneau alive, and here in Louisbourg! How is that possible?"
"I don"t know," said the priest. "I only know this, that I have just seen him!"
"Seen him?"
"Yes."
"Where? You must be mistaken."
"No, no," said the priest, hurriedly. "I know him--only too well. I saw him at the Ordnance. He has just arrived. He was brought here by Indians, on a litter. The commandant is even now with him. I saw him go in. I hurried here, for I knew that you were here, to tell you to fly. Fly then, at once, and for your life. I can get you away now, if you fly at once."
"Fly?" repeated Claude, casting a glance at Mimi.
"Yes, fly!" cried the priest, in earnest tones. "Don"t think of her, --or, rather, do you, Mimi, if you value his life, urge him, entreat him, pray him to fly. He is lost if he stays. One moment more may destroy him."
Mimi turned as pale as death. Her lips parted. She would have spoken, but could say nothing.
"Come," cried the priest, "come, hasten, fly! It may be only for a few weeks--a few weeks only--think of that. There is more at stake than you imagine. Boy, you know not what you are risking--not your own life, but the lives of others; the honor of your family; the hope of the final redemption of your race. Haste--fly, fly!"
The priest spoke in tones of feverish impetuosity. At these words Claude stood thunder-struck. It seemed as though this priest knew something about his family. What did he know? How could he allude to the honor of that family, and the hope of its redemption?
"O, fly! O, fly! Haste!" cried Mimi, who had at last found her voice.
"Don"t think of me. Fly--save yourself, before it"s too late."
"What! and leave you at his mercy?" said Claude.
"O, don"t think of me," cried Mimi; "save yourself."
"Haste--come," cried the priest; "it is already too late. You have wasted precious moments."
"I cannot," cried Claude, as he looked at Mimi, who stood in an att.i.tude of despair.
"Then you are lost," groaned the priest, in a voice of bitterest grief.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mimi Suddenly Caught Claude By The Arm."]
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAPTIVE AND THE CAPTORS.
Further conversation was now prevented by the approach of a company of soldiers, headed by the commandant. Mimi stood as if rooted to the spot, and then suddenly caught Claude by the arm, as though by her weak strength she could save him from the fate which was impending over him; but the priest interposed, and gently drew her away.
The soldiers halted at the entrance to the garden, and the commandant came forward. His face was clouded and somewhat stern, and every particle of his old friendliness seemed to have departed.
"I regret, monsieur," said he, "the unpleasant necessity which forces me to arrest you; but, had I known anything about your crime, you would have been put under arrest before you had enjoyed my hospitality."
"O, monsieur!" interrupted Mimi.
The commandant turned, and said, severely, "I trust that the Countess de Laborde will see the impropriety of her presence here. Monsieur L"Abbe, will you give the countess your arm into the house?"