He was silent for a long time. When at last he spoke his voice was full of gentleness.
“I do not love you, Yvonne. I cannot allow you to look forward to the happy ending that you picture. You say that you love me. I shall give you the opportunity to prove it to yourself, if not to me. I order you, Thérèse, to remain in this house until I come to set you free.”
She stared at him for a moment, and then an odd smile came into her eyes.
“A prisoner serving her time? Is that it, my husband?”
“If you are here when I return, I shall have reason to believe that your love is real, that it is good and true and enduring. I am afraid of you now. I do not trust you.”
“Is that your sentence?”
“Call it that if you like, Thérèse.”
“My keepers? Who are they to be? The old men of the sea——”
“Your keeper will be the thing you call love,” said he.
“Do you expect me to submit to this———”