They were standing close to each other, so close that Bertrand’s hand touched Tiphaïne’s arm.
“It is not easy to give up—all.”
She felt that he was trembling.
“Bertrand, I have one word for you.”
“And that word?”
“Wait.”
Her hand touched his. He held it, and stood looking down into her face.
“To serve you, honor you, to bide my time,” he said.
It was not the half-shamed face of a girl that he gazed at, but the inspired face of a brave woman.
“Bertrand, take troth from me; are you content?”