“If I asked her to marry me, what would you say?”
Paule had expected this confidence, and yet she trembled. Her dark eyes were fixed on the path, strewn now with the dark leaves of other years, and bathed in the violet evening light. She answered almost harshly:
“Her parents will refuse.”
“Why?” asked he, and love gave place for a moment to pride.
“Because you haven’t a title.”
“But neither have they. And besides, what does that matter nowadays?”
“Oh, their set retains its prejudices.”
“But if she wishes it herself?”
“She has no will of her own.”
“And if she loves me?”