Impostors and imposture -- Fiction; Short stories; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction; Thieves -- Fiction
He asked her to tell him. A slight shudder ran through her, and she
shook her head mournfully, no word escaping her lips. She sighed, the
sigh of a young girl who had a burden of apprehension upon her sorely
troubled mind. He could scarcely believe that this was the bright,
happy, laughing girl who, half an hour ago, had been putting her stones
along the ice, wielding her besom with all her might, and clapping her
dainty little hands with delight when any of her own side knocked an
opponent off "the pot lid."
At last, after long persuasion, during which time dusk had almost
deepened into darkness in that silent snow-covered wood, she, in a
faltering voice, and with many sentences broken by her emotion, which
she vainly strived to suppress, told him a most curious and startling
story to which he listened with breathless interest.
The first of the series of remarkable incidents had occurred about two
years ago, while she was at school in Versailles. She, with a number of
other elder girls, had gone to spend the summer at a branch of the
college close to Fontainebleau, and they often succeeded, when cycling,
in getting away unobserved and enjoying long runs in the forest alone.
One summer's evening she was riding alone along a leafy by-way of the
great forest when, by some means, her skirt got entangled in the machine
and she was thrown and hurt her ankle. A rather well-dressed Frenchman
who was coming along assisted her. He appeared to be very kind, gave
her a card, with the name "Paul Berton" upon it, was told her name in
response, and very quickly a friendship sprang up between them. He was
an engineer, and staying at the Lion d'Or, in Fontainebleau, he said,
and having wheeled her machine several miles to a spot quite near the
college, suggested another meeting. She, with the school-girl's
adventurous spirit, consented, and that proved to be the first of many
clandestine rendezvous. She was not quite seventeen while he was, she
thought, about twenty-six.
She kept her secret from all, even from her most intimate schoolmate,
fearing to be betrayed to the head governess, so all the summer these
secret meetings went on, she becoming more and more infatuated on every
occasion, while he, with apparent carelessness, learned from her the
history of her family, who they were, and where they resided.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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