"What would you say to me, mademoiselle?"
But she turned away. "Monsieur, monsieur! I will marry you, yes. But
it is to save your hopes,--your future. We have--we have no love.
Monsieur, will you not hold me as your guest, your sister? It is I who
would kneel to you, monsieur."
I pushed her down. "Sit still," I commanded. I turned my back to her,
for I had no speech. She did not plead, but I could feel her tremble.
I forced words out of me.
"You are a Protestant?"
"Yes, monsieur."
I picked up the corner of her blanket. "I am a Catholic," I said,
drawing away the woolen folds that I might look at her. "In our church
marriage is a sacrament, mademoiselle."
She lifted her great eyes. "Monsieur, our marriage will be no
sacrament. It will be a political contract. A marriage--a marriage of
convenience--in name only---- Surely when we reach home it can be
annulled. Must I--must I beg of you, monsieur?"
I rose and looked down at her. "A strange woman of a strange race," I
said. "No, you need not beg of me. I have never had a captive in my
life,--not even a bird. Mademoiselle, you shall bear my name, if you
are willing, for your protection, but you shall go as my guest to
Montreal.
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