It is my hobby to stand by the old ship, not sign on to a new
captain every port."
She raised her head and looked at him calmly now. The flush had gone from
her face, and a light of determination was in her eyes. To that was added
suddenly a certain tinge of recklessness and abandon in carriage and
manner, as one flings the body loose from the restraints of clothes, and
it expands in a free, careless, defiant joy.
Jean Jacques' recital of her father's tale had confused her for a moment,
it was so true yet so untrue, so full of lies and yet so solid in fact.
"The head of the house--visits to Madrid on political business--the
parlour, the market, society--all that!" It suggested the picture of the
life of a child of a great house; it made her a lady, and not a superior
servant as she had been; it adorned her with a credit which was not hers;
and for a moment she was ashamed. Yet from the first she had lent herself
to the general imposture that they had fled from Spain for political
reasons, having lost all and suffered greatly; and it was true while yet
it was a lie. She had suffered, both her father and herself had suffered;
she had been in danger, in agony, in sorrow, in despair--it was only
untrue that they were of good birth and blood, and had had position and
comfort and much money. Well, what harm did that do anybody? What harm
did it do this little brown seigneur from Quebec? Perhaps he too had made
himself out to be more than he was.
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