“Oh, it is more difficult than I had thought! How shall I go on? Three months ago, monsieur, there was a death in our family.”
“Yes?” I asked, failing to see what this had to do with the story.
“It was that of my father’s elder brother,” she continued unsteadily, without looking at me, “so that my father, who up to that time had been M. de Benseval, succeeded to the title and became—became——”
“M. de Chambray!” I shouted, seeing it all as in a lightning flash; and I sprang toward her, blind with sudden joy.
For an instant she tried to hold me off; but my arms were about her, straining her to me. Then suddenly she yielded, and nestled to me, close—close against my heart.
“Oh, my love!—my love!—my love!” she cried, and raised her lips to mine.
“Did you call, M. de Tavernay?” asked a voice; and I raised my head to see my father’s friend standing upon the threshold, looking at us with smiling face.
“Yes, monsieur,” I answered as intelligibly as I could. “I desired to announce to you that your daughter has decided to marry me.”
“In faith,” he said, a humorous light in his eye, “I somehow suspected it the moment I opened the door.”
With which remark he closed it again, and left us alone together.