"A little while ago, I feared I might offend you, Le Gardeur," said
she, taking his hand tenderly in hers, "if I spoke all I wished. I
never did offend you that I remember, brother, did I?"
"Never, my incomparable sister; you never did, and never could. Say
what you will, ask me what you like; but I fear I am unworthy of
your affection, sister."
"You are not unworthy; God gave you as my only brother, you will
never be unworthy in my eyes. But it touches me to the quick to
suspect others may think lightly of you, Le Gardeur."
He flinched, for his pride was touched, but he knew Amelie was
right. "It was weakness in me," said he, "I confess it, sister. To
pour wine upon my vexation in hope to cure it, is to feed a fire
with oil. To throw fire into a powder magazine were wisdom compared
with my folly, Amelie: I was angry at the message I got at such a
time. Angelique des Meloises has no mercy upon her lovers!"
"Oh, my prophetic heart! I thought as much! It was Angelique,
then, sent you the letter you read at table?"
"Yes, who else could have moved me so? The time was ill-chosen, but
I suspect, hating the Bourgeois as she does, Angelique intended to
call me from Pierre's fete.
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