"Take back your word, then! Write him a letter--go to him--send me to him--anything! I can't stay here on the footing of a thief and impostor. I'll do anything," he continued, as she was silent. "I'll go to him in person; I'll go to your brother; I'll go to your sister even. I'll proclaim it to the world. Or, if you don't like that. I'll keep it a mortal secret. I'll leave the château with you without an hour's delay. I'll defy pursuit and discovery. We'll go to America,--anywhere you wish, if it's only action. Only spare me the agony of seeing you drift along into that man's arms." Mlle. de Bergerac made no reply for some moments. At last, "I will never marry M. de Treuil," she said. To this declaration Coquelin made no response; but after a pause, "Well, well, well?" he cried. "Ah, you're pitiless!" said the young girl. "No, mademoiselle, from the bottom of my heart I pity you." "Well, then, think of all you ask! Think of the inexpiable criminality of my love. Think of me standing here,--here before my mother's portrait,--murmuring out my shame, scorched by my sister's scorn, buffeted by my brother's curses! Gracious heaven, Coquelin, suppose after all I were a bad, hard girl!" "I'll suppose nothing; this is no time for hair-splitting." And then, after a pause, as if with a violent effort, in a voice hoarse and yet soft: "Gabrielle, passion is blind. Reason alone is worth a straw. I'll not counsel you in passion, let us wait till reason comes to us." He put out his hand; she gave him her own; he pressed it to his lips and departed. On the following day, as I still professed myself too weak to resume my books, Coquelin left the château alone, after breakfast, for a long walk. He was going, I suppose, into the woods and meadows in quest of Reason. She was hard to find, apparently, for he failed to return to dinner. He reappeared, however, at supper, but now my father was absent. My mother, as she left the table, expressed the wish that Mlle. de Bergerac should attend her to her own room. Coquelin, meanwhile, went with me into the great saloon, and for half an hour talked to me gravely and kindly about my studies, and questioned me on what we had learned before my illness. At the end of this time Mlle. de Bergerac returned. "I got this letter to-day from M. de Treuil," she said, and offered him a missive which had apparently been handed to her since dinner. "I don't care to read it," he said. She tore it across and held the pieces to the flame of the candle. "He is to be here to-morrow," she added finally. "Well?" asked Coquelin gravely. "You know my answer." "Your answer to him, perfectly. But what is your answer to me?" She looked at him in silence. They stood for a minute, their eyes locked together. And then, in the same posture,--her arms loose at her sides, her head slightly thrown back,--"To you," she said, "my answer is--farewell."