She interrupted him, standing poised as though for flight, her head on one side, a smile touching her crimson lips, her veiled eyes glancing sidewise into his.
"Nay—I remember?" she said with a rippling laugh. "Why now, how should I remember, my lord? Am I not a fool?"
His glance was somewhat taken aback.
"Fool or not, I love thee, pretty witch, and thou shalt be my wife."
She shook her head, and the laughter died from her face, leaving it startled.
"Thy wife? Wife to thee? Oh, no! I cannot be that!"
"Oh, yes! Thou canst and must and shalt be that! I'll not let thee go so lightly!" He advanced upon her, but she stretched out a white naked arm to full length, a finger pointing at him, and he stopped. Just why, he did not pause to think.
"Nay, my lord!" she said, and her voice took on the haunting tones which had so perplexed her father. "That I am not as other girls I know right well. Why, then, should my lord desire me for wife? Thou dost not love me. Were I thy wife, I must love thee, and I do not wish to love thee. I could say,—what are the words?—always and ever they are ringing in my heart,—'Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia,' with my lips as well as with my heart, but not to thee—oh, not to thee!" She flung out her arms with a gesture of sudden wild abandonment, and clasped them over her eyes. Her voice broke in a storm of tears. "Now—woe is me!—all I can say is 'Where art thou, Caius?' I have waited so long—so long!"
"But he is here at last," said Marius, and took her hand.
She wept softly, with hanging head, making no effort to get away.