“They come, Madame, from my heart of hearts. After my country and my wife, my sword is yours.”
She was gone. Of course I took Mademoiselle in my arms, and this time there was no hesitation on her part in returning my ardent caresses. I do not know what we said or what happened. After a space—how long or how short I cannot tell, for I took no notice of time or place—I said that while we each had the gold pieces I regretted that I had no ring to slip on her finger, nothing of my own to give her to bind the engagement. Of course I could not give her the Queen’s diamond—yet! She was very close to me and doubtless could feel what was in my breast-pocket.
“You have one thing,” she replied demurely, “that you could slip on.”
“What is that?”
“Have you forgotten the talisman?”
“The talisman?” I cried.
I am stupid sometimes, not often, and I was thinking so hard of her that I did not catch her meaning at first.
“That which Master Bucknall brought you—that I gave back to you.”
“Oh!” said I; “the slipper saved my life; it gave me hope.”
“And hope gave you assurance?”