I saw her glance at me quickly from the corner of her eye, and my heart grew bolder.
“It is a beautiful garden,” I went on. “I saw it this evening from my window. There are paths, seats——”
“I am familiar with the garden, monsieur,” she interposed dryly.
“And the moon will be full to-night,” I concluded.
“The more reason I should refuse you,” she retorted. “It will be a dangerous place. Though I am amply able to take care of myself,” she added.
“I do not doubt it, mademoiselle,” I agreed humbly, “especially with me. That has already been proved, has it not?”
“Yes,” she said, with a queer little smile; “yes, I think it has.”
“Believe me, it is not a ruse,” I added earnestly, “even were I capable of a ruse, which I am not. God knows I should like to walk with you there, but not to tell you what I shall to-night have to tell you.”
She looked at me again with a strange mixture of timidity and daring.
“Very well, M. de Tavernay,” she said at last. “In the garden then—provided, of course, that madame consents.”