Abby was in great trouble:  indeed, she was the most agitated of the three, for it was with outward calm, at least, that De Arthenay spoke; and Marie listened quietly, too, plaiting her apron, between her fingers, and forgetting for the moment to make the horns with her left hand.  Briefly, he asked her to be his wife; to come home with him, and keep his house, and share good and evil with him.  He would take care of her, he said, and—­and—­he trusted the Lord would bless the union.  If his voice shook now and then, if he kept his eyes lowered, that neither woman should see the light and the struggle in them, that was his own affair; he spoke quietly to the end, and then drew a long breath, feeling that he had come through better than he had expected.

Abby looked for an outburst of some kind from Marie, whether of tears or of sudden childish fear or anger; but neither came.  Marie thanked Monsieur, and said he was very kind, very kind indeed.  She would like to think about it a little, if they pleased; she would do all she could to please them, but she was very young, and she would like to take time, if Monsieur thought it not wrong:  and so rising from her seat, she made a little courtesy, with her eyes still on the ground, and slipped away out of the room, and was gone.

The others sat looking at each other, neither ready to speak first.  Finally Abby reflected that Jacques would not speak, at all unless she began, so she said, with a sigh between the words; “I guess it’ll be all right, Jacques.  It’s only proper that she should have time to think it over, and she such a child.  Not but what it’s a great chance for her,” she added hastily.  “My! to get a good home, and a good provider, as I make no doubt you would be, after the life she’s led, traipsin’ here and there, and livin’ with darkened heathens, or as bad.  But—­but—­you’ll be kind to her, won’t you, Jacques?  She—­she’s not a woman yet, in her feelin’s, as you might say.  She ain’t nothin’ but a baby to our girls about here, that’s brought up to see with their eyes and talk with their mouths.  You’ll have patience with her, if her ways are a good deal different from what you were used to; along back in your mother’s time?”

But here good Abby paused, for she saw that De Arthenay heard not a word of her well-meant discourse.  He sat brooding in the corner, as was his wont, but with a light in his eyes and a color in his cheek that Abby had never seen before.

“Jacques De Arthenay, you are fairly possessed!” she said, in rather an awestruck voice, as he rose abruptly to bid her good-day.  “I don’t believe you can think of anything except that child.”

“So more I can!” said the man, looking at her with bright, hard eyes.  “Nothing else!  She is my life!” and with that he turned hastily to the door and was gone.