"I have done with the recollections, but I have more to say," returned the boy, undaunted by her manner. "I have something to say which, once before, you have heard, but which you shall listen to again. It is why I obeyed your note. In other case I should have left Versailles without seeing you. It is something that I am going to offer you, something that I have to give that is not elsewhere, I think, to be found in Versailles. You will seek long, Anne, before you find it again. It is something that you, and every woman about you, make light of daily; and yet it is what women—ay, and men—sell their souls for."
"Love," murmured Madame la Duchesse, absently.
"Yes, it is love—my love, that I have to give. Anne, to you, here, being as you are; what you are; belonging to none who has the right to guard you; paid with much gold, it is true, yet with false gold; puppet-queen, without real honor in any heart, your name a byword in many countries—"
"Ah! Ah! You insult—"
"I speak truth! You know that. To you, I say, who have so little of love, none of real honor, I offer all. I offer you marriage, a name unstained, a pure-hearted devotion, a life that shall be pure— Ah, now, Anne, now, I am making you feel! There. Do not turn from me. No, no. Listen! I did not mean it. Forget what I have said—forgive it. Think only of how I have suffered. Think how utterly I love you; how I am a man desperate. My whole existence, my heart, my mind, my hopes, are here at your feet. Crush them—you kill me. You cannot spurn all. To leave you is to enter a living death. But—but—you must know what love means! It means that my soul belongs to you; that in you, for you, only, forever, I live. How, then, can you let me go from you? You will be tearing the heart from my body. You know that all my life—it has been you. Had I ever cared for another, it would not have mattered so. Anne—" he was upon his knee—"Anne—you shall come with me! You shall come away with me—into the sweetest exile that ever man was blessed with. Why, look you, I take you from a palace, but I will give you that which I shall transform to paradise! Oh, my dear—my dear—I can say no more. Anne, Anne, I die for you!"
Both her hands were in his, clasped so tightly that she was pained. Much of the force of his passion had entered into her. It could not but do so, for it was too real. She was trembling; her breath came unsteadily, and she could not give her answer with his upturned eyes upon her. Gently, very gently, she pushed him aside, rose from her chair, and, turning away from him, began to pace the end of the room, steadying herself as she walked. De Mailly, a little dazed now, the reaction from his nervous strain already beginning to overcome him, passed slowly to the opposite side of the dressing-room and stood there with his back to the door, one cold hand pressed to his damp forehead. His face was deathly white. His body quivered. Presently madame stopped, in her walk, before her cabinet of toys, opened one little drawer, and took something therefrom. Then she went over to where her cousin was standing, and, with an effort, spoke:
"Thank you," she said, dreamily, "for what you have said to me. May God, in his goodness, bless you, little cousin. You know that it is all useless, what you wish. Some day you will be glad that my place was here—that I knew that I was not fit for you. Remember it. I am not fit for you. You spoke truth at first. See, I grant you all that. You must go your way alone. Such as I could not make you happy. I—give you only this—if you care to take it—for memory. 'Tis all I have. As to my love—who knows what I love—or where? Adieu."
"'I GIVE YOU ONLY THIS'"