A negative shake of the golden head and ringleted curls was the answer, though the cupid mouth and the blue eyes smiled with tenderness. They stood very close to another, like poles of a magnet twixt which a spark flashes.
Silently Maurice drew from his pocket a ring. ’Twas of pure gold, a lovely and exquisite bauble, whereof the two little claws clasped a golden heart. He handed it to Henriette, who took it with a happy smile till she realized its meaning as betrothal.
A wave of color overspread her cheek. The heir of the de Vaudreys to give himself to her! Pride and love mingled in her thoughts.
Yes, to throw himself away on a Commoner girl––he meant it. Flashed the picture on her mental retina of the little solemn oath to Louise. What he asked was impossible––for him and for her.
Henriette handed back the ring.
“Marry you––an aristocrat! Why, that would ruin you in the eyes of all the world!”
He was down on his knees, pleading, agonized, distressed, looking for some sign of relentment from the beauteous little head that seemed rigidly to repress emotion.
“Then you d-o-n-’t l-o-v-e m-e?” he faltered at last, rising.
“No!” was the reply, in a firm but very small voice.