"Believe me, no one realizes more clearly than I do the sacrifice I would ask you to make, with only the honest love of a plain American gentleman for compensation. There are no titles, no riches, no courtly pleasures in my Virginia; I can't even offer you a reputation, a little fame. But my life is before me, and I swear, if you will but give me some hope, I will yet bring you honors and some fortune to lay with my heart at your feet! There have been days when you were so gracious that I have been tempted to believe I might win your love," says poor Calvert.
"If you mean I have knowingly encouraged this madness, Monsieur Calvert, believe me, you mistake and wrong me."
"I do not reproach you," returned Calvert, smiling sadly. "I can easily believe you did not mean to show me any kindness. This folly is all my own, and has become so much a part of me that I think I would not have done with it if I could. I would give you my life if it would do you any good. You need not smile so mockingly. It is no idle assertion, and it would be a poor gift, after all, as it is less than nothing since you will not share it. I used to wonder what this love was," he goes on, as if to himself, "that seizes upon men and holds them fast and changes them so. I think I understand it now, and the beauty of it and the degradation, too. I love you so that, if by some stroke of fate I could be changed into a prince or a duke, like your Monsieur de Grammont or Monsieur de Noailles, and you would give me your love, as to some such exalted personage, I would be base enough to accept it, though I knew you would never give it to the untitled American."
"Enough, Monsieur!" said Adrienne, rising in some agitation. "This conversation is painful to me and I know must be to you. Had I guessed what you had to say, I would have spared you."
"No," returned Calvert, grimly, a wave of crimson suddenly spreading over his pale face ('twas the only sign he gave of the anger and pain gnawing at his heart), "you would have had to listen. I came to Azay-le-Roi to tell you that I love you. Do you think I would have gone away without speaking?"
Adrienne regarded him in haughty amazement.
"At least you will do me the favor never to refer to this again?"
"You may rest assured, Madame, that I shall never annoy you again." He spoke as haughtily as she, for he was bitterly hurt, and he was young enough to feel a fierce pride in the thought that he, too, would have done with this love which she had so lightly disdained.
He sank down upon the bench and covered his face with his hands. A sudden spasm of coquetry seized the young girl.
"Then, in case I should ever change my mind, as women have been known to do since time immemorial, Monsieur, I shall have to ask you to marry me!" she said, laughing lightly.