They were silent again. The cab entered a park. Turning to her, De Medici raised her hand to his lips. His restless, burning eyes remained on her face. He felt intoxicated. Her profile with its parted red lips, its tiny line of white teeth, her eyes dark and desirous as they avoided him, her aromatic hair in black coils under the toque. “Dearest,” he whispered, “I adore you.” She nodded, still avoiding his eyes. Then, “When do you want to get married?” she asked. De Medici extricated himself from his emotions. “Tomorrow,” he answered calmly. “That’s too soon. I’ll have to tell father first.” “I’ve told him all about it,” he smiled. “Well!” De Medici nodded and looked fearfully at her. She was angry. Her face had grown bright with color. “What did he say?” she asked. Ignoring the change in her voice, De Medici answered: “He gave me some advice. He advised me against starting any arguments with you.” Florence turned her eyes to him. They were burning and enigmatic. “Curious,” he thought. “She’s like him. She hides something.” He felt miserable again. But his hand caressed her arm. “Arguments about what?” she asked quietly. “Oh, this and that,” De Medici answered smiling. “Never mind asking me. Let’s save up all the arguments for another time, when we have nothing else to talk about.” “What did he say?” she persisted. Then: “Excuse me. We’ll tell him and have him announce the engagement. He’ll love that.” Her face was again gay and dominant. De Medici nodded. “I’ll telephone him,” he said quickly, and tapped on the driver’s window. The cab stopped. Leaning out of the door, De Medici gave a vague direction. “Take us to a telephone,” he said. The driver nodded as if he appreciated the details of the situation. They started again. “Julien,” the girl exclaimed suddenly. She was laughing. Her arms embraced the surprised young man. He felt himself powerless for an instant. The warmth of her body was against him. Her lips waited intimately for his kiss. “Oh, I adore you,” he murmured. His arms tightened around her and they remained embraced as the cab rolled jerkily on. The driver was talking. De Medici removed his eyes bewilderedly from Florence. “What is it?” he inquired. “I think there’s a telephone in that drugstore,” the driver repeated. De Medici stepped out of the cab. Several minutes later he returned, smiling broadly. “The parent thaws,” he announced exuberantly. “We have his consent and his blessing.” “But you told me you had all that in advance,” Florence laughed. “I know,” he went on excitedly, “but our talk last night was only sort of a rehearsal.” “What did he say?” she asked as he sat down beside her. “Going to announce it tonight. Says he’ll summon a gathering worthy of the event.” “Poor father,” murmured Florence. Her face had grown sad. “He’s delightful,” cried De Medici. “He’s the most charming man in the world,” she added. The driver put in an apologetic appearance. “Where to?” he asked.