“But, Your Majesty, I am not going back to America.”
“How, Monsieur! You contradict the Queen?”
“At least, I am not going back alone,” I added respectfully.
“Monsieur, believe me,” the Queen rejoined earnestly, “it is impossible. The Duc de Rivau-Huet would never consent. He is one of the great nobles of France. You——”
“I am a criminal, Madame, and respect no conventions save those dictated by my own heart.”
I could swear that Mademoiselle gave me one grateful glance.
“Is that the custom of America?” asked the Queen.
“Of the world, Madame. When one loves as I, there is but one custom.”
“That is?”
“To give oneself to one’s mistress and to take her for his own.”