He felt her straining to free herself;
he saw the fear in her eyes, and he tried to speak calmly, while
his heart throbbed with the passion of love which he wished to
pour into her ears.
"Listen, Jeanne," he said. "Pierre has sent me to you. He has told
me everything--everything, my sweetheart. There is nothing to
keep from me now. I know. I understand. And I love you--love you--
love you--my own sweet Jeanne!"
She trembled at his words. He felt her shuddering in his arms, and
her eyes gazed at him wonderingly, filled with a strange and
incredulous look, while her lips quivered and remained speechless.
He drew her nearer, until his face was against her own, and the
warmth of her lips, her eyes, and her hair entered into him, and
near stifled his heart with joy.
"He has told me everything, my little Jeanne," he said again, in a
whisper that rose just above the crackling of the pine.
"Everything. He told me because he knew that I loved you, and
because--"
The words choked in his throat. At this hesitation Jeanne drew her
head back, and, with her hands pressing against his breast, looked
into his face. There were in her eyes the same struggling
emotions, but with them now there came also a sweet faltering, a
piteous appeal to him, a faith that rose above her terrors, and
the tremble of her lips was like that of a crying child.
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