“I told you that love had brought me a sword.”
“You’ve changed. What has changed you?”
“I have not changed. I have only come back to these unchangeable mountains, to this unchanging castle, to the ancient laws and customs of my people—their ancient and unalterable laws. I had to come back to them,” she said, “because I realized that it was not in me to be false to all that my fathers have for centuries been true to.”
Cartaret leaned forward. He could not believe that this was her only reason; he could not understand that the sway of any custom can be so powerful. He held her hands tighter. His eyes searched her quailing eyes.
“Do you love me? That’s all I want to know, and I’ll attend to everything else. I’ve no time for sparring. I’ve got to know if you love me. I’ve got to know that, right here and now.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t!” she whispered.
“Do you love me?” he relentlessly persisted.
“To love in Paris is one thing: here I may not love.”
“You may not—but do you?”