'Wanda is a hermit,' she said; 'she should have dwelt in a cave, and lived on berries with S. Scholastica. What is the use of leaving it to her? She will say No. She loves her mountains.'
'Then she shall stay amidst her mountains.'
'And you will throw all your future away?'
'Dear mother, I have no future——should have had none but for her.'
'All that is very pretty, but after nearly six years of marriage it is not necessary to faire des madrigaux.'
The Princess sat a little more erect, angrily, and continued to tap her foot upon the floor. His wife was silent for a little while; then she went over to her writing-table, and wrote with a firm hand a few lines in German. She rose and gave the sheet to Sabran.
'Copy that,' she said, 'or give it as many graces of style as you like.'
His heart beat, his sight seemed dim as he read what she had written.
It was an acceptance.
'See, my dear Réné!' said the Princess, when she understood; 'never combat a woman on her own ground and with her own weapon— unselfishness! The man must always lose in a conflict of that sort.'