Madame Potecki and her companion led the way; but then Brand put his hand on the arm of Natalie and detained her.
"Natalie!" he said, in a low and hurried voice, "I am going away to-morrow. I don't know when I shall see you again. Surely you will give me some assurance—some promise, something I can repeat to myself. Natalie, I know the value of what I am asking; you will give yourself to me?"
She stood by the half-shut door, pale, irresolute, and yet outwardly calm. Her eyes were cast down; she held her fan firmly with both hands.
"Natalie, are you afraid to answer?"
Then the young Hungarian girl raised her eyes, and bravely regarded him, though her face was still pale and apprehensive.
"No," she said, in a low voice. "But how can I answer you more than this—that if I am not to give myself to you I will give myself to no other? I will be your wife, or the wife of no one. Dear friend, I can say no more."
"It is enough."
She went quickly to the front of the box; in both bouquets there were forget-me-nots. She hurriedly selected some, and returned and gave them to him.
"Whatever happens, you will remember that there was one who at least wished to be worthy of your love."
Then they followed their friends into the saloon, and sat down at a small table, though Natalie's hands were trembling so that she could scarcely undo her gloves. And George Brand said nothing; but once or twice he looked into his wife's eyes.