"In St. Etienne I must needs have knelt to receive the iron crown. My ambition mounts higher than that. I think you hated the Duke; I thought once it was not hate you gave to Roger Herrick."
She bent over him, a hand on each of his shoulders now.
"And to-day," she whispered, "to-day my heart cried louder than all: Roger is Duke. Long life to Duke Roger."
"Crown me, Christine."
"You shall not kneel to me," she said. "I too am proud. I will not bargain with you in this fashion."
"Crown me."
Her hands clasped about his neck.
"Oh, my dearest, if my poor love is the crown you covet, take it, wear it, be my king."
Then Herrick rose. His strong arms were about her; his kiss was on her lips.