"And you?"

"He is mine." His look burned into her soul-how deep, how joyful!

She turned away, her face going suddenly pale. She kept the horse for
some time, but at last gave him up again to Jacques. Gaston stepped from
the doorway into the garden and met her. It was now dusk. Annette was
inside. They walked together in silence for a time. Presently she drew
close to him. He felt his veins bounding. Her hand slid into his arm,
and, dark as it was, he could see her eyes lifting to his, shining,
profound. They had reached the end of the garden, and now turned to come
back again.

Suddenly he said, his eyes holding hers: "The horse is yours--and mine."

She stood still; but he could see her bosom heaving hard. She threw up
her head with a sound half sob, half laugh. . . .

"You are mad!" she said a moment afterwards, as she lifted her head from
his breast.

He laughed softly, catching her cheek to his. "Why be sane? It was to
be."

"The gipsy and the gentleman?"

"Gipsies all!"

"And the end of it?"