"But this is nonsense!" He came forward. "This sort of thing may have been all very well in the Fourteenth Century; but we're living in the Twentieth, and it doesn't go now. Oh,"--he flung out a hand--"I know all about your old laws and traditions! I dare say they're extremely quaint and all that, and I dare say there was a time when they had some reason in them; but that time isn't this time, and I refuse to hear any more about them. I won't let them interfere with me." She flashed crimson. "You speak for yourself, sir: permit me to speak for myself." His answer was to seize her hands. "Let me go!" she ordered. "I'll never let you go," said he. "Let me go. You are a brave man to restrain a woman! Shall I call a servant?" She struggled fiercely, panting. "I've got to make you understand me," he protested, holding fast her hands. "I didn't mean any harm to your traditions or your customs. Whatever you love I'll try to love too--just so long as it doesn't hurt you. But _this_ does hurt you. Tell me one thing: Why did you leave Paris? What was it made you change your mind?" He saw in her face the signs of an effort to disregard the demand. "Tell me why you left Paris," he repeated. Her eyes wavered. The lids fluttered. "That night," she began in an uneven tone, "I gave you to understand, that night----" "You gave me to understand that you loved me." He said it fearlessly, and, on the edge of a sob, she fearlessly answered him. She had ceased to struggle. Her hands lay still and cold in his. "I told you that love had brought me a sword." "You've changed. What has changed you?" "I have not changed. I have only come back to these unchangeable mountains, to this unchanging castle, to the ancient laws and customs of my people--their ancient and unalterable laws. I had to come back to them," she said, "because I realized that it was not in me to be false to all that my fathers have for centuries been true to." Cartaret leaned forward. He could not believe that this was her only reason; he could not understand that the sway of any custom can be so powerful. He held her hands tighter. His eyes searched her quailing eyes. "Do you love me? That's all I want to know, and I'll attend to everything else. I've no time for sparring. I've got to know if you love me. I've got to know that, right here and now." She shook her head. "Don't!" she whispered. "Do you love me?" he relentlessly persisted. "To love in Paris is one thing: here I may not love." "You may not--but _do_ you?" "Don't. Please don't. Oh!"--her red lips parted, her breath came fast--"if love were all----"