She murmured, ‘You should not have listened to Roland.’

’Roland should have warned me.  How could I be near you and not . . .  But I am nothing.  Forget me; do not think I speak interestedly, except to save the dearest I have ever known from certain wretchedness.  To yield yourself hand and foot for life!  I warn you that it must end miserably.  Your countrywomen . . .  You have the habit in France; but like what are you treated?  You! none like you in the whole world!  You consent to be extinguished.  And I have to look on!  Listen to me now.’

Renee glanced at the gondola conveying her father.  And he has not yet landed! she thought, and said, ’Do you pretend to judge of my welfare better than my papa?’

’Yes; in this.  He follows a fashion.  You submit to it.  His anxiety is to provide for you.  But I know the system is cursed by nature, and that means by heaven.’

‘Because it is not English?’

’O Renee, my beloved for ever!  Well, then, tell me, tell me you can say with pride and happiness that the Marquis de Rouaillout is to be your—­there’s the word—­husband!’

Renee looked across the water.

‘Friend, if my father knew you were asking me!’

‘I will speak to him.’

‘Useless.’

‘He is generous, he loves you.’

‘He cannot break an engagement binding his honour.’

’Would you, Renee, would you—­it must be said—­consent to have it known to him—­I beg for more than life—­that your are not averse . . . that you support me?’

His failing breath softened the bluntness.

She replied, ’I would not have him ever break an engagement binding his honour.’

‘You stretch the point of honour.’

’It is our way.  Dear friend, we are French.  And I presume to think that our French system is not always wrong, for if my father had not broken it by treating you as one of us and leaving me with you, should I have heard . . . ?’

‘I have displeased you.’

‘Do not suppose that.  But, I mean, a mother would not have left me.’

‘You wished to avoid it.’

‘Do not blame me.  I had some instinct; you were very pale.’

‘You knew I loved you.’

‘No.’

‘Yes; for this morning . . .’

This morning it seemed to me, and I regretted my fancy, that you were inclined to trifle, as, they say, young men do.’

‘With Renee?’

’With your friend Renee.  And those are the hills of Petrarch’s tomb?  They are mountains.’

They were purple beneath a large brooding cloud that hung against the sun, waiting for him to enfold him, and Nevil thought that a tomb there would be a welcome end, if he might lift Renee in one wild flight over the chasm gaping for her.  He had no language for thoughts of such a kind, only tumultuous feeling.

She was immoveable, in perfect armour.

He said despairingly, ‘Can you have realized what you are consenting to?’