They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. I hear her coming. He had drawn a horrid picture of the fate that awaited mademoiselle when once the populace discovered her relationship to the Valade family.
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