But Dionysia went on speaking in a firmer voice.

“Did you think I would be mean enough to forsake the friend who is betrayed by everybody else?  No, no!  Grandpapa and my aunts will accompany me, and we will meet you in England.  You will change your name, and go across to America; and we will look out, far in the West, for some new country where we can establish ourselves.  It won’t be France, to be sure.  But our country, Jacques, is the country where we are free, where we are beloved, where we are happy.”

Jacques de Boiscoran was moved to the last fibre of his innermost heart, and in a kind of ecstasy which did not allow him to keep up any longer his mask of impassive indifference.  Was there a man upon earth who could receive a more glorious proof of love and devotion?  And from what a woman!  From a young girl, who united in herself all the qualities of which a single one makes others proud,—­intelligence and grace, high rank and fortune, beauty and angelic purity.

Ah! she did not hesitate like that other one; she did not think of asking for securities before she granted the first favor; she did not make a science of duplicity, nor hypocrisy her only virtue.  She gave herself up entirely, and without the slightest reserve.

And all this at the moment when Jacques saw every thing else around him crumbled to pieces, when he was on the very brink of utter despair, just then this happiness came to him, this great and unexpected happiness, which well-nigh broke his heart.

For a moment he could not move, he could not think.

Then all of a sudden, drawing his betrothed to him, pressing her convulsively to his bosom, and covering her hair with a thousand kisses, he cried,—­

“I bless you, oh, my darling!  I bless you, my well beloved!  I shall mourn no longer.  Whatever may happen, I have had my share of heavenly bliss.”

She thought he consented.  Palpitating like the bird in the hand of a child, she drew back, and looking at Jacques with ineffable love and tenderness, she said,—­

“Let us fix the day!”

“What day?”

“The day for your flight.”

This word alone recalled Jacques to a sense of his fearful position.  He was soaring in the supreme heights of the ether, and he was plunged down into the vile mud of reality.  His face, radiant with celestial joy, grew dark in an instant, and he said hoarsely,—­

“That dream is too beautiful to be realized.”

“What do you say?” she stammered.

“I can not, I must not, escape!”

“You refuse me, Jacques?”

He made no reply.

“You refuse me, when I swear to you that I will join you, and share your exile?  Do you doubt my word?  Do you fear that my grandfather or my aunts might keep me here in spite of myself?”

As this suppliant voice fell upon his ears, Jacques felt as if all his energy abandoned him, and his will was shaken.