“I am ready to forgive you as often as you like.”
“And you love me?”
“Madly.”
“In spite of my bad disposition?”
“In spite of all.”
“You swear it?”
“Yes,” I said in a whisper.
Nanine entered, carrying plates, a cold chicken, a bottle of claret, and some strawberries.
“I haven’t had any punch made,” said Nanine; “claret is better for you. Isn’t it, sir?”
“Certainly,” I replied, still under the excitement of Marguerite’s last words, my eyes fixed ardently upon her.