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Thompson, Maurice, 1844-1901

"Alice of Old Vincennes"


The wind and rain still prevailed when they were ready to set
forth, and, although it was not extremely cold, a searching chill
went with every throb that marked the storm's waves. No lights
shone in the village houses. Overhead a gray gloom covered stars
and sky, making the darkness in the watery streets seem densely
black. Farnsworth offered Alice his arm, but she did not accept
it.
"I know the way better than you do," she said. "Come on, and don't
be afraid that I am going to run. I shall not play any trick on
you."
"Very well, Mademoiselle, as you like. I trust you."
He followed her from the house. He was so filled with the
bitterness of what he was doing that he carried her sword in his
hand all the way to the fort, quite unaware that its point often
touched her dress so that she plainly felt it. Indeed, she thought
he was using that ruffianly and dangerous means of keeping pace
with her. He had sent the patrol on its rounds, taking upon
himself the responsibility of delivering her to Hamilton. She
almost ran, urged by the strange excitement that burned in her
heart, and he followed somewhat awkwardly, stumbling over the
unfamiliar way in the rain and darkness.
At every step he was wishing that she would escape from him.
Coarse as his nature was and distorted by hardening experiences,
it was rooted in good English honesty and imbued with a chivalric
spirit.


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