"I know that," was the gloomy answer.
"Ah, but why not? You so beautiful a man, so good!" and she knelt beside him and put her arms about his neck.
"So beautiful! That is a matter of taste. So good!" he sighed, but let his head droop on her shoulder all the same.
"Any woman must love you," she murmured. "But one thing could hinder."
"And that thing?"
"That she first loved another," she whispered.
He was silent.
"We all knew it in France," she said.
"The Marquise?" he asked huskily.
"The Marquise, assuredly. Why, we ran away from her because of it."