"I have no time to wrap this meagre offer in fair phrases," went on Fortuné. "I doubt if they would improve it, and you are not, I think, the woman to care for them. I can only say this over and over again, that I love you and that I want you. It was you—the thought of you—that saved me at Quiberon; I used to dream of you at Houat. Raymonde!"
Still she did not answer, and stood with her head averted.
"Raymonde," said he, coming a little nearer, mingled command and entreaty in his tone, "for God's sake put down that flower and answer me!—only do not send me back to France with a refusal! If you cannot make up your mind to-day—and I must crave your forgiveness indeed for so blunt and hasty a wooing—at least let me take back with me a glimmer of hope!"
At that she looked up. Her face was transfigured, but he dared not try to interpret its new meaning.
"You are going back to France, in spite of everything, to that old life of peril and hardships?"
"Of course," said he. "But if you would accept it, I should have a home to offer you in Jersey. And when better days come——"
She interrupted him. "You misunderstand me, M. le Chevalier. I should not marry any man who was risking his life over there, to stay behind myself in safety. A wife's place, if she can help him, is with her husband." A smile wove itself into the beautiful radiance. "Shall you not need an agent at Kerdronan?"
For a second the gorse heaved beneath him. "Do you mean what you are saying?" cried La Vireville, seizing her wrist. "Will you really marry a penniless cripple who has nothing but his sword?"
Her smile was brilliant now, and dazzled Fortuné while she faced him, captive, as on a certain morning a year ago. "No, M. de la Vireville, I shall marry a man! As you know, for three years I had hated your name. But, as you wear it, I have long seen that I could not take a nobler."