"If you will go on teaching me—always—always—Cécile."
She was no coquette, this child of a grim and yet tender land, where all are in earnest with the battle and stress of life.
And yet her lashes drooped over her eyes as though she dared not meet his glance.
"Teach you, Monsieur, I who know nothing? What could I teach, save only——"
"Save only what love is," quoth he, with new-born boldness, for the magic of the moment was with him, transforming him into something stronger, deeper, truer than his old self.
No need for veiling lashes now. He had caught her two little hands, slender, sun-burnt hands which seemed too soft for resistance, and bent his face to the level of hers.
It was a new mode of wooing, as startling as bewildering; yet there was sweetness in it, too.
"Love?" she whispered, and drew one long, wondering breath as she looked into those blue eyes so near her own.
"My love. Our love, Cécile—Cécile."
His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. She was trembling, too, but a smile broke on her lips.