“You mustn’t go yet,” he broke out all at once. “You won’t leave Paris yet?”
The words were an appeal, and his voice was not steady.
“I came to see you,” said Anne deliberately.
He turned to her sharply. It was too dark to see his face, but she heard the anxiety in his tone.
“All of us—or me?”
“To see you.”
He threw himself on his knees beside her. “Anne,” he whispered, “stay. I want you. Will you marry me?”
He had taken her hands and was holding them tight against his breast.
“No, René.”
The words were decisive, but she made no effort to release herself, and her hands rested quietly in his.