"You will desert me, Maud?" he asked, trying to convey in his look
that which he could not utter in words.
"Father, I can be of no help, and I feel that I must not remain
here."
"Have you found a place?"
"This afternoon I engaged myself to go to Paris with a French
family. They have been in England some time, and want to take back
an English governess for their children."
Paul was silent.
"I leave the day after to-morrow," she added; at first she had
feared to say how soon she was to go.
"You are right," her father said, shifting some papers about with a
tremulous hand. "You are right to leave us. You at least will be
safe."
"Safe?" she asked, under her breath.
He looked at her in the same despairing way, but said nothing.
"Father," she began, her lips quivering in the intensity of her
inward struggle, "can you not go away from here? Can you not take
mother away?"
They gazed at each other, each trying to divine what it was that
made the other so pale. Did her father know?--Maud asked herself.
Did Maud know something more than he himself?--was the doubt in
Paul's mind. But they were thinking of different things.
"I can't, I can't!" the wretched man exclaimed, spreading out his
arms on the desk.
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