“On leaving your mother you must tell your father the same thing in a very serious and decided manner.”
“Yes, yes; and then?”
“And then it is that matters become serious. If you are determined, very determined—very, very determined to be my wife, my dear, dear little Susan—I will—run away with you.”
She experienced a joyful shock, and almost clapped her hands. “Oh! how delightful. You will run away with me. When will you run away with me?”
All the old poetry of nocturnal elopements, post-chaises, country inns; all the charming adventures told in books, flashed through her mind, like an enchanting dream about to be realized. She repeated: “When will you run away with me?”
He replied, in low tones: “This evening—tonight.”
She asked, quivering: “And where shall we go to?”
“That is my secret. Reflect on what you are doing. Remember that after such a flight you can only be my wife. It is the only way, but is—it is very dangerous—for you.”
She declared: “I have made up my mind; where shall I rejoin you?”
“Can you get out of the hotel alone?”
“Yes. I know how to undo the little door.”
“Well, when the doorkeeper has gone to bed, towards midnight, come and meet me on the Place de la Concorde. You will find me in a cab drawn up in front of the Ministry of Marine.”
“I will come.”