I could see that Alixe's mood was more tranquil since Doltaire was gone. A certain restlessness had vanished. Her manner had much dignity, and every movement a peculiar grace and elegance. She was dressed in a soft cloth of a gray tone, touched off with red and slashed with gold, and a cloak of gray, trimmed with fur, with bright silver buckles, hung loosely on her, thrown off at one shoulder. There was a sweet disorder in the hair, which indeed was prettiest when freest. When she had finished speaking, she looked at me, as I thought, with a little anxiety. "Alixe," I said, "we have come to the cross-roads, and the way we choose now is for all time." She looked up, startled, yet governing herself, and her hand sought mine and nestled there. "I feel that, too," she replied. "What is it, Robert?" "I can not in honour escape from your father's house. I can not steal his daughter and his safety too--" "You must escape," she interrupted firmly. "From here, from the citadel, from anywhere but your house; and so I will not go to it." "You will not go to it?" she repeated slowly and strangely. "How may you not? You are a prisoner. If they make my father your jailer--" She laughed. "I owe that jailer and that jailer's daughter--" "You owe them your safety and your freedom. Oh, Robert, I know, I know what you mean. But what care I what the world may think by-and-bye, or to-morrow, or to-day? My conscience is clear." "Your father--" I persisted. She nodded. "Yes, yes, you speak truth, alas! And yet you must be freed. And"--here she got to her feet, and with flashing eyes spoke out--"and you shall be set free. Let come what will, I owe my first duty to you, though all the world chatter; and I will not stir from that. As soon as I can make it possible, you shall escape." "You shall have the right to set me free," said I, "if I must go to your father's house. And if I do not go there, but out to my own good country, you shall still have the right before all the world to follow, or to wait till I come to fetch you." "I do not understand you, Robert," said she. "I do not--" Here she broke off, looking, looking at me, and trembling a little. Then I stooped and whispered softly in her ear. She gave a little cry, and drew back from me; yet instantly her hand came out and caught my arm. "Robert, Robert! I can not, I dare not!" she cried softly. "No, no, it may not be," she added in a whisper of fear. I went to the alcove, drew back the curtain, and asked Mr. Wainfleet to step forth. "Sir," said I, picking up my Prayer Book and putting it in his hands, "I beg you to marry this lady and myself." He paused, dazed. "Marry you--here--now?" he asked shakingly. "Before ten minutes go round, this lady must be my wife," said I. "Mademoiselle Duvarney, you--" he began.