"No, not that." His intensity was so great, so real, that she dreaded the future that seemed imminent in his face. She must give him hope, however slight, until time could soothe the vivid chords of his being, and until she could read aright the inmost thoughts of her own heart.
"What then?" was his question.
"Can you not suggest something else? We have always been friends," she said.
"Promise me to remain free for a year. I will do my best and come back then," he said.
"Yes, Monsieur le Docteur, for one more year I will not love any one, for one more year I will be free." And the tone filled his soul with music. The cloud was raised—the veil was lifted.
"And I will write," he said. "Will you answer?"
"Yes," was her quiet response.
"Oh, Mon Dieu! I thank you," was his comment. His face had lost its sadness.
They stood together under the chandelier. He, excited, determined, passionate, with love in every look and gesture, but controlling himself by a strong effort. She, introspective, observant, wary; and yet with a warmer kindliness towards her companion than she had ever felt before.
"I must go," he said at last. "Just a kiss to seal our promise." And he threw his arm out to clasp her to him. But with one step backward she raised the hand that was held in his and the kiss fell upon it instead.