He bulged it out with banknotes. “Thou must spend all this in gowns,” he said. She took the notes and unfolded them upon the table: “But--but, Horace, this will buy me many silk gowns--we must not waste----” He kissed her, and laughed: “I forgot to tell thee about the insignificant things--we are rich, Babette.” The tears came into her eyes: “But--but--I shall shame thee, Horace----” He kissed her quivering lips to silence her: “Then God send me shame, Babette,” he said; and he added, with a twinkle in his laughing eyes: “My sisters will judge thee largely by thy clothes, so buy for thyself as thou wouldst buy for my honour and my credit.” She laughed gaily; then a frown knit the handsome brows. “What is it, Babette?” “Only an hour to buy a trousseau!” she sighed. “An hour is such a little while.” He laughed loud and long; and she laughed at his laughter. “No, Babette,” said he--“no, no, not thy wedding-dresses. Buy just thy few gowns to fill my trunk. Thou wouldst not rob my sisters of a month’s shopping, thou selfish egoist. They are rich--and must have employment.” “I may not find gowns that will fit me,” she said. “Thy needle will do the fitting.” She sat, the happy tears in her handsome eyes, her hand in his, and gazed at the coming day. “What!” said he--“thou wouldst weep!” She kissed his fingers, put her dainty palm on his lips: “Supposing thy sisters----” She hesitated. “I am taking thee home, Babette, to teach my sisters manners,” he said. She laughed: “And thy father, Horace?” He put his hands on her slender shoulders: “Babette,” said he--“I have told my father you are of the De la Rues of Paris.” She laughed gaily. He frowned at her in mock solemnity: “Thou must not laugh at that jest before my father,” he said. “My father believes in the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Nobility and Me. It’s his only creed. Thou must never shake a man’s religious faith, my Babette. And he will love thee, with his rough love--for thou art very beautiful--and--thou lovest me.” She slipped her hand through his arm, and nestled her face close to his: “Horace,” she said simply--“I will tell thee now what I had intended to tell thee never: there is a little one coming--a little child----” He was filled with a great silence and wonder. He sat holding her slender fingers and gazing at her shy eyes. He put out his hand and placed it upon her breasts: “And what if it usurp my place and oust me from thy fragrant bosom?” he said. She laughed a low happy laugh: “Ah, Horace; that would be fearful,” she said in gay raillery, “for thou mightest then treat the little one as harshly as thou hast used me....” Thus they thou’d and thee’d and kissed and kissed again, until the sun peeped in over the eastern window’s ledge, and touched the young man’s hair. She put her hand upon his head: “Thou art pure gold,” she said. CHAPTER LXXI _Which treats of a Harmless Riot amongst such as Dwell on Mount Parnassus_