“And the conditions?” curtly.
Fitzgerald pondered over the other's lack of surprise. “What would you do if you loved a woman and she promised to be your wife?”
“I'd marry her,” sitting down at the table.
“What would you do in my place, and Madame had promised to marry you?” puffing quickly.
“I'd marry her,” answered Maurice, banging his fist on the table, “even if all the kings and queens of Europe rose up against me. I would marry her, if I had to bind her hands and feet and carry her to the altar and force the priest at the point of a pistol, which, in all probability, is what you will have to do.”
“I love her,” sullenly.
“Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Would it make any difference?”
“No. Who is she?”