“This lady,” I said, “is my affianced wife.  You, Sir Gendarme, are overstepping your powers.  I demand that you let us proceed in peace.”

“My orders are—­” the gendarme resumed; but already my sensitive ear had detected a faint wavering in the gruffness of his voice.  The hectoring tone had gone out of it.  I could not see him, of course, but somehow I felt that his attitude had become less arrogant and his glance more shifty.

“This gentleman has spoken the truth,” now came in soft, dulcet tones from under the shawl that wrapped the head of my beloved.  “I am Mlle. Goldberg, M. le Gendarme, and I am travelling with M. Hector Ratichon entirely of my own free will, since I have promised him that I would be his wife.”

“Ah!” the gendarme ejaculated, obviously mollified.

“If Mademoiselle is the fiancee of Monsieur, and is acting of her own free will—­”

“It is not for you to interfere, eh, my friend?” I broke in jocosely.  “You will now let us proceed in peace, and for your trouble you will no doubt accept this token of my consideration.”  And, groping in the darkness, I found the rough hand of the gendarme, and speedily pressed into it the crisp note which my adored one had given to me.

“Ah!” he said, with very obvious gratification.  “If Monsieur Ratichon will assure me that Mademoiselle here is indeed his affianced wife, then indeed it is not a case of abduction, and—­”

“Abduction!” I retorted, flaring up in righteous indignation.  “Who dares to use the word in connexion with this lovely lady?  Mademoiselle Goldberg, I swear, will be Madame Ratichon within the next four and twenty hours.  And the sooner you, Sir Gendarme, allow us to proceed on our way the less pain will you cause to this distressed and virtuous damsel.”

This settled the whole affair quite comfortably.  The gendarme shut the carriage door with a bang, and at my request gave the order to the driver to proceed.  The latter once again cracked his whip, and once again the cumbrous vehicle, after an awkward lurch, rattled on its way along the cobblestones of the sleeping city.

Once more I was alone with the priceless treasure by my side—­alone and happy—­more happy, I might say, than I had been before.  Had not my adored one openly acknowledged her love for me and her desire to stand with me at the hymeneal altar?  To put it vulgarly—­though vulgarity in every form is repellent to me—­she had burnt her boats.  She had allowed her name to be coupled with mine in the presence of the minions of the law.  What, after that, could her father do but give his consent to a union which alone would save his only child’s reputation from the cruelty of waggish tongues?