"I did not come to command you, Caroline, but to bear the request of
my guests. No, I do not even ask you on my account to go up to the
great hall: it is to please my guests only." Her tears and
heartrending appeal began to sober him. Bigot had not counted on
such a scene as this.
"Oh, thanks, Francois, for that word! You did not come to command
my obedience in such a shameful thing: you had some small regard
left for the unfortunate Caroline. Say you will not command me to
go up there," added she, looking at him with eyes of pitiful
pleading, such as no Italian art ever portrayed on the face of the
sorrowing Madonna.
"No," he replied, impatiently. "It was not I proposed it: it was
Cadet. He is always a fool when the wine overflows, as I am too, or
I would not have hearkened to him! Still, Caroline, I have
promised, and my guests will jeer me finely if I return without
you." He thought she hesitated a moment in her resolve at this
suggestion. "Come, for my sake, Caroline! Do up that disordered
hair; I shall be proud of you, my Caroline; there is not a lady in
New France can match you when you look yourself, my pretty Caroline!"
"Francois," said she, with a sad smile, "it is long since you
flattered me thus! But I will arrange my hair for you alone," added
she, blushing, as with deft fingers she twisted her raven locks into
a coronal about her head.
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