"Suppose that I ask this question of the Duchesse de Rosas!" said the Spaniard, with quivering lip.
She became as pale as he.
"I do not understand—" she said.
The duke remained silent for a moment; then his entire soul passed into his voice:
"I have no family, Marianne. I am entirely my own master, and I love you. If you swear to me that you have not been Guy's mistress—"
"Nobody has the right to say that he has even touched my lips," replied Marianne firmly. "Only one man, he who took me, an innocent girl, and left me heart-broken, disgusted, believing I should never again love, before I met you. He is dead."
"I know," said Rosas, "you confided that to me formerly.—A widow save in name, I offer you, yes, I! my name, my love, my whole life—will you take them?"
"Eh! you know perfectly well that I love you!" she exclaimed, as she frantically gave him the burning and penetrating kiss that had never left his lips since the soirée at Sabine's.
"Then, no one—no one?" José repeated.
"No one!"