"Yes."
"Will you come to me if I can arrange it?"
"Yes."
"Even in the face of what she says?"
"Yes; I don't believe her. I believe you. What difference could it make, anyhow? You don't love her."
"No," he said; "no, no, no! I never have." He drew her into his arms wearily, relievedly. "Oh, Flower Face," he said, "don't give me up! Don't grieve. Try not to, anyhow. I have been bad, as she says, but I love you. I love you, and I will stake all on that. If all this must fall about our heads, then let it fall. I love you."
Suzanne stroked his cheek with her hands nervously. She was deathly pale, frightened, but somehow courageous through it all. She caught strength from his love.
"I love you," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "You won't give me up?"
"No, I won't," she said, not really understanding the depth of her own mood. "I will be true."