"No, I will not marry him."
Papillon, who had unearthed a long-cherished bone in a dark corner under a Dutch cabinet, dragged his treasure across the floor and laid it at his master's feet with a pleased growl.
"You will not marry Théo?"
"No."
She had risen, and the two faced each other defiantly, while the little dog between them wagged his tail with joy.
"Why?" asked Joyselle sharply.
"Because—I cannot. I have dawdled and dallied, and refused to face things long enough. Now I see that the worst crime I could commit against him would be to marry him. I love you. Whether you love me or not, I love you, and I always shall. And I ask you as a great favour to tell Théo for me that I cannot marry him."
"But what are you going to do?"
His voice trembled and he spoke very slowly.
"I am—going away. I don't know where. To Italy, probably, with the Lenskys. And I shall, I daresay, marry in the course of time."