wards in his mind for a little time with
no significance. Then they gave birth to another thought. Suppose he
stayed; suppose he took advantage of the love of this girl? He looked
around the little room, showing so peacefully in the moonlight--the
religious symbols, the purity, the cleanliness, the calm poverty. He
had known the inside of the boudoirs and the bed-chambers of women
of fashion--he had seen them, at least. In them the voluptuous, the
indulgent, seemed part of the picture. But he was not a beast, that he
could fail to see what this tiny bedroom would be, if he followed his
wild will. Some terrible fate might overtake his gay pilgrimage to
empire, and leave him lost, abandoned, in a desert of ruin.

Why not give up the adventure, and come to this quiet, and this good
peace, so shutting out the stir and violence of the world?

All at once Madame Chalice came into his thoughts, swam in his sight,
and he knew that what he felt for this peasant girl was of one side of
his nature only. All of him worth the having--was any worth the having?
responded to that diffusing charm which brought so many men to the feet
of that lady of the Manor, who had lovers by the score: from such as
the Cure and the avocat, gentle and noble, and requited, to the young
Seigneur, selfish and ulterior, and unrequited.

He got to his feet quietly. No, he would make a decent exit, in triumph
or defeat, to honour the woman who was standing his friend. Let them,
the British Government at Quebec, proceed against him; he would have
only one trouble to meet, one to leave behind. He would not load this
girl with shame as well as sorrow. Her love itself was affliction enough
to her. This adventure was serious; a bullet might drop him; the law
might remove him: so he would leave here at once.

He was about to open the window, when he heard a door shut below, and
the thud of heavy steps outside the house. Drawing back, he waited until
he heard the foot of Elise upon the stair. She came in without a light,
and at first did not see him. He heard her gasp. Stepping forward a
little, he said:

"I am here, Elise. Come."

She trembled as she came. "Oh, monsieur--your Excellency!" she
whispered; "oh, you cannot go down, for my mother sits ill by the fire.
You cannot go out that way."

He took both her hands. "No matter. Poor child, you are trembling!
Come."

He drew her towards the couch. She shrank back. "Oh no, monsieur, oh--I
die of shame!"