She paused and beat her foot on the ground.
“I will go,” he said, “if you are willing.”
“Stay,” she answered; “listen. There was one time—when you were on your knees to my image—when you almost loved me, when you thought of me as your wife.”
He coloured and did not move.
“You thought I was too wealthy and too great a lady, but you had dreams of me. Just now, in the garden, you were ready for my signal.”
“Well?” he said unsteadily. “Well?”
“Would you make me your wife now?”
Luc stared at her, the red deepening in his face.
“M. de Richelieu would be willing,” she added.
“Madame!” he cried. “I am noble.”