"Ah, your slave?" she interrupted, intelligently.
Serious as he felt, he could not forbear a laugh; but he said, gently:
"Not my slave, but my love, my darling, my treasure. I would never beat you, nor scold you, nor make your life sad, as Madame Lorraine did. I would be very kind to you always. Now, will you be my wife?"
She replied, with childish frankness:
"Yes, I will be your wife and go with you to your home. Then, perhaps, I will understand better your word, 'wife.'"
He smiled and stooped to kiss her, but she drew back quickly, her innate shyness taking alarm. He did not press her, only said to himself:
"My shy little wild bird, her heart is yet to win."
It seemed to him the strangest thing he had ever heard of, this taking for a wife a young, untutored creature who actually did not understand what the words love, marriage, and wife meant.
He told Carmontelle later of his thought. The Southerner was amused at the ignorance of the lovely girl—amused and sorry in one breath, and with a sigh of regret, he said:
"Happy is he who shall have the pleasure of teaching her the meaning of those tender words."