“Your father? Ah, yes! But I do not come empty-handed—not altogether. It is little enough, dear sweet, to pay this debt; but in the worldly view such bargains are relative, and the world—forgive me—has not treated your father according to his deserts.”
She conned his face with trouble in her eyes.
“No,” she whispered. “He is poor, but he thinks so much of me. What if he and you were to disagree as to my value?”
“Impossible. I will admit at once that you are priceless.”
He saw her distress, and tightened his hold.
“Little rogue,” he said playfully, “what is your value in your own eyes? What do you put it at?”
“The money in your pocket,” she said, smiling faintly.
“I believe that is no more than a couple of soldi.”
“I am yours for a penny, then. Give it me. Do you think I hold myself very dear? With that in my purse, yes. If the King wooed me with half his kingdom I should say, ‘Not even with the whole. I have a greater fortune in Louis’s penny.’” Her lip quivered. “But, alas!” she sighed, “it is not kings I dread!”
Moved beyond expression, he could only strain her to his heart, murmuring and adoring.