He stopped in one of the twisting paths down which they had so often wandered, and looked at the old château.
"That ivy is too thick to be healthy," he said, "but" (sighing), "you like it—it must stop."
Now that same ivy had been the cause of their biggest quarrel before that last biggest one of all.
"It shall be cut," cried mademoiselle, smiling up at him, "and at once!"
He looked down into her eyes adoringly.
The scent of the roses wrapped them round with softest sweetness.
He smiled at her tenderly.
Yes, he understood now. He had found the way to rule her.