"I would once have gone with you to the
end of the world to hear you say you were proud of me. Alas! you
can never be proud of me any more, as in the old happy days at Grand
Pre. Those few brief days of love and joy can never return--never,
never!"
Bigot stood silent, not knowing what to say or do. The change from
the bacchanalian riot in the great hall to the solemn pathos and woe
of the secret chamber sobered him rapidly. Even his obduracy gave
way at last. "Caroline," said he, taking both her hands in his, "I
will not urge you longer. I am called bad, and you think me so; but
I am not brutal. It was a promise made over the wine. Varin, the
drunken beast, called you Queen Vashti, and challenged me to show
your beauty to them; and I swore not one of their toasted beauties
could match my fair Acadienne."
"Did the Sieur Varin call me Queen Vashti? Alas! he was a truer
prophet than he knew," replied she, with ineffable sadness. "Queen
Vashti refused to obey even her king, when commanded to unveil her
face to the drunken nobles.
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