“Oh, madame,” I answered, “they would survive much greater ones if—if only——”
“Well?” she prompted, “if?—continue, monsieur.”
“If only I might choose the persons with whom to endure them,” I said boldly.
“You are right, Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte. “So long as a man has beside him the woman he loves he can face the world with a cheerful heart. But come, let us ascend to the platform.”
We mounted after him, stumbling up the stairs, one flight, two flights, three. To guide her steps in the darkness I ventured again to slip my arm about my companion’s waist.
“You heard?” I whispered. “You are not angry that I permitted them to guess?”
“No,” she answered softly, and with a strange little laugh. “Perhaps they had already guessed. Besides, I do not think I shall ever be angry with you again, M. de Tavernay.”
“Ah, you love me!—you love me, then!” I whispered, rapturously, and drew her still closer to me.
“Not now, my friend!” she protested, tremulously. “I beg of you, not now! Do not forget your promise.”
“I shall not,” I assured her; and we mounted in silence.