France."

She drew back from him half a step, but her outstretched hand still
rested on his arm.

"What have lands and fortune to do with friendship--or with love?" she
asked. "Friendship's home is in the hearts of men and women;
friendship's fortune is friendship's faith."

"Ay, Madam, so it should be," answered Gilbert, his voice warming in a
fuller tone.

"Then be my friend," she said, and her hand turned itself palm upward,
asking for his.

He took it and raised it to his lips in the act of bending one knee.
But she hindered him; her fingers closed on his with a strength greater
than he had supposed that any woman could possess, and she held him and
made him stand upright again, so that he would have had to use force to
kneel before her.

"Leave that for the court," she said; "when we are alone let us enjoy
our freedom and be simply human beings, man and woman, friend and
friend."

Gilbert still held her hand, and saw nothing but truth in the mask of
open-hearted friendship in which she disguised her growing love. He was
young and thought himself almost friendless; a generous warmth was
suddenly at his heart, with something compounded of real present
gratitude and of the most chivalrous and unselfish devotion for the