"Perhaps not, but I could not be sure just then. Most men situated
as your father was would have despatched me. Ah, mademoiselle, have
you not proofs enough? Do you not believe me now?"

"Yes, monsieur," she answered simply, "I believe you."

"Will you not believe, then, in the sincerity of my love?"

She made no rely. Her face was averted, but from her silence I took
heart. I drew close to her. I set my hand upon the tall back of
her chair, and, leaning towards her, I spoke with passionate heat
as must have melted, I thought, any woman who had not a loathing
for me.

"Mademoiselle; I am a poor man now," I ended. "I am no longer that
magnificent gentleman whose wealth and splendour were a byword. Yet
am I no needy adventurer. I have a little property at Beaugency -
a very spot for happiness, mademoiselle. Paris shall know me no
more. At Beaugency I shall live at peace, in seclusion, and, so
that you come with me, in such joy as in all my life I have done
nothing to deserve. I have no longer an army of retainers. A couple
of men and a maid or two shall constitute our household. Yet I shall
account my wealth well lost if for love's sake you'll share with me
the peace of my obscurity. I am poor, mademoiselle yet no poorer
even now than that Gascon gentleman, Rene de Lesperon, for whom you
held me, and on whom you bestowed the priceless treasure of your
heart."

"Oh, might it have pleased God that you had remained that poor