"That would I, I swear it!" cried Bois-Doré with ingenuous warmth. "Very well, my loyal friend," continued Lauriane, "let us wait awhile. I ask you for a seven years' trial as the ancient custom is among knights without reproach; and do me the favor to allow this agreement to remain a secret between us two. Seven years hence, if my heart has remained insensible to love, you will renounce me; and in like manner, if I share your passion, I will tell you so without mystery. I swear to you likewise, that if, before the expiration of our agreement, I am moved, despite myself, by another's attentions, I will humbly and frankly make confession to you thereof. Of that there seems but little likelihood; yet do I seek to provide for everything, so earnestly do I desire to preserve at least your friendship, if I lose your love." "I submit to all your conditions," replied the marquis, "and I pledge to you, adorable Lauriane, the faith of a gentleman and the fidelity of a perfect lover." "I rely thereupon," she said, offering him her hand; "I know that you are a man of heart and an incomparable lover. And now, let us return to my father, and let me tell him of that which is agreed between us, so that our secret may be shared by him alone." "I agree," said the marquis; "but shall we not exchange pledges?" "What shall they be? I am willing; but let it not be a ring. Remember that, being a widow, I can wear no other ring than the gift of a second husband." "Permit me to send you to-morrow a present worthy of you." "No, no! that would mean admitting others to our confidence. Give me any trinket that you have about you. See, that little box of ivory and enamel that you have in your hand!" "'Tis well! but what will you give me? I see you have the right understanding of this exchange. It must be something that we have upon us when we exchange promises." Lauriane looked in her pockets and found there only her gloves, her handkerchief, her purse and Monsieur Sciarra's dagger. The purse came to her from her another: she gave him the dagger. "Hide it carefully," she said, "and, so long as I allow you to keep it, hope. In like manner, if I come and ask you for it----" "I will pierce my bosom with it!" cried the old Celadon. "No! that is something that you will not do," said Lauriane, with the utmost seriousness, "for I should die of grief; and, moreover, you would break the promise you have given me to remain my friend whatever happens." "That is true," said Bois-Doré, kneeling to receive the pledge. "I swear to you that I will not die, even as I swear that I will neither love nor glance at any other fair, so long as you shall not have torn from my heart the hope of winning yours." XXI