“I will go,” I continued quickly, “when you shall have promised to become my wife.”
The joy passed from her face. She glanced at me a moment as if without understanding.
“I came to Lavedan to win you, Roxalanne, and from Lavedan I shall not stir until I have accomplished my design,” I said very quietly. “You will therefore see that it rests with you how soon I may set out.”
She fell to weeping softly, but answered nothing. At last I turned from her and moved towards the door.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
“To take the air, mademoiselle. If upon deliberation you can bring yourself to marry me, send me word by Anatole or one of the others, and I shall set out at once for Toulouse.”
“Stop!” she cried. Obediently I stopped, my hand already upon the doorknob. “You are cruel, monsieur!” she complained.
“I love you,” said I, by way of explaining it. “To be cruel seems to be the way of love. You have been cruel to me.”
“Would you—would you take what is not freely given?”
“I have the hope that when you see that you must give, you will give freely.”