Page:Moll Flanders (1906 edition).djvu/316

284 I might support it by subtle reasoning, yet it was a way of arguing that was contrary to the general practice, and that, he confessed, he was much disappointed in it; that, had he known I would have made such a use of it, he would never have attempted what he did, which he had no wicked design in, resolving to make me reparation, and that he was very sorry he had been so unhappy; that he was very sure he should never upbraid me with it hereafter, and had so good an opinion of me as to believe I did not suspect him; but, seeing I was positive in refusing him, notwithstanding what had passed, he had nothing to do but secure me from reproach by going back again to Paris, that so, according to my own way of arguing, it might die out of memory, and I might never meet with it again to my disadvantage.

I was not pleased with this part at all, for I had no mind to let him go neither, and yet I had no mind to give him such hold of me as he would have had; and thus I was in a kind of suspense, irresolute, and doubtful what course to take.

I was in the house with him, as I have observed, and I saw evidently that he was preparing to go back to Paris; and particularly I found he was remitting money to Paris, which was, as I understood afterwards, to pay for some wines which he had given order to have bought for him at Troyes, in Champagne, and I knew not what course to take; and, besides that, I was very loth to part with him. I found also that I was with child by him, which was what I had not yet told him of, and sometimes I thought not to tell him of it at all; but I was in a strange place, and had no acquaintance, though I had a great deal of substance, which indeed, having no friends there, was the more dangerous to me.

This obliged me to take him one morning, when I saw him, as I thought, a little anxious about his going, and irresolute. Says I to him, 'I fancy you can hardly find in your heart to leave me now.' 'The more unkind is it in you', said he, 'severely unkind, to refuse a man that knows not how to part with you.'

'I am so far from being unkind to you', said I, 'that I will go over all the world with you, if you desire me to, except to Paris, where you know I can't go.'

'It is a pity so much love', said he, 'on both sides should ever separate.'

'Why, then', said I, 'do you go away from me?'

'Because', said he, 'you won't take me.'

'But, if I won't take you', said I, 'you may take me anywhere but to Paris.'

He was very loth to go anywhere, he said, without me, but he must go to Paris or the East Indies.

I told him I did not use to court, but I durst venture myself to the East Indies with him, if there was a necessity of his going.

He told me, God be thanked, he was in no necessity of going anywhere, but that he had a tempting invitation to go to the Indies.

I answered, I would say nothing to that, but that I desired he would go anywhere but to Paris, because there he knew I must not go.

He said he had no remedy but to go where I could not go, for he could not bear to see me if he must not have me.

I told him that was the unkindest thing he could say of me, and that I ought to take it very ill, seeing I knew how very well to oblige him to stay, without yielding to what he knew I could not yield to.