"When a man has been very close to death, Mademoiselle, he looks about for the reason of his resurrection. When he returns to the world, he looks to see what there is in this life to make it worth living. I am young--at the beginning of my career. I may have before me a long life in which, with health and friends, I may find much happiness. These things certainly have their worth to a normal man--but I can not make them real before my eyes just yet. As I look upon the world to which I have returned, I see nothing but a woman and her love. If I can not win her for my wife, if I can not have her love--" He made an expressive gesture which more impressively than words implied how completely he laid down everything else to her love and his. He said, not without a certain dignity: "I am quite poor; I have only my soldier's pay. In Normandy I own a little property. It is upon a hill and looks over the sea, with apple orchards and wheat fields. There is a house. These are my landed estates. My manhood and my love are my fortune. If you can not return my love I shall not thank Tremont for bringing me back from Africa." The American girl listened to him with profound emotion. She discovered every second how well she understood him, and he had much to say, because it was the first time he had ever spoken to her of his love. She had put out both her hands and, looking at him fully, said simply: "Why it seems to me you must know how I feel--how can you help knowing how I feel?" * * * * * * * After a little he told her of Normandy, and how he had spent his childhood and boyhood in the château overlooking the wide sea, told her how he had watched the ships and used to dream of the countries beyond the horizon, and how the apple-blossoms filled the orchards in the spring. He told her how he longed to go back, and that his wandering life had made it impossible for years. Julia whispered: "We shall go there in the spring, my friend." He was charming as he sat there holding her hands closely, his fine eyes bent upon her. Sabron told her things that had been deep in his heart and mind, waiting for her here so many months. Finally, everything merged into his present life, and the beauty of what he said dazed her like an enchanted sea. He was a soldier, a man of action, yet a dreamer. The fact that his hopes were about to be realized made him tremble, and as he talked, everything took light from this victory. Even his house in Normandy began to seem a fitting setting for the beautiful American. "It is only a Louis XIII château; it stands very high, surrounded by orchards, which in the spring are white as snow." "We shall go there in the spring," she whispered. Sabron stopped speaking, his reverie was done, and he was silent as the intensity of his love for her surged over him. He lifted her delicate hands to his lips. "It is April now," he said, and his voice shook, "it is spring now, my love." * * * * * * *