“Listen, Fiesole, I’m unfair and I mean to be unfair. I was a brute to you once when I meant only to be honorable. To-night I’m not caring what I am. You despise me--you can go on despising me, but I’ll wear you out. I’ll make you come to love me even against your will. You’ll need me some day; I shall wait for that. I want to spend all my life for you; it’s the only thing I ask of life now. Wherever you go I shall follow you.” I stopped, panting for breath. She had ceased to struggle. Her eyes were wide; her face hovered pale above me; she stared down at me powerless, yet with reckless challenge, breathing upon my mouth. “You’re a rotter to come back like this,” she said hotly, “just when I was beginning to be happy. When you speak of marriage, you don’t know what you’re saying. You spoilt all that for me years ago at Venice. D’you think I’ll ever believe again in the honor and goodness of a man? You’ve come too late. Five years changes people. I’m a different woman now--not at all what you imagine.” “You can be any kind of woman you choose, but you’re the woman I’m going to marry.” “Then you haven’t heard what people say about me?” “And I don’t care.” “They say I’ve had lovers.” “I don’t believe them.” “What if I should tell you that I have?” “I shouldn’t believe you.” “You’d prefer to think that I’d lied to you rather than that I’d told you the truth?” “It would make no difference. You’ve always loved me. You love me now. I know that you are pure.” “And you would never doubt it? Never doubt it of a woman who dances every night, as I do, before the eyes of Paris?” “Never.” She gazed at me curiously, with tenderness and intentness. Her bosom shuddered; I saw the sob rising in her throat. When she spoke, the words came slowly; her eyes were misted over; she trembled as I clasped her. “D’you know, I believe you’re the only living man who’d be fool enough to say that?” “I was always a fool, Fiesole.” I thought she would have kissed me, her lips came so near to mine. “But a dear fool, sometimes,” she whispered hoarsely; “a fool who always comes too late or too early--but a fool to the end.” She stood up and my arms slipped down to her knees as I held her. She laughed brokenly. “You nearly made me serious. It won’t do to be serious at three o’clock in the morning.” “I won’t go till you’ve promised. Promise,” I urged. She yawned. “I’m sleepy. You’ve worn me out.” “But answer me before I go.” She smiled down at me mockingly, ruffling my hair. “What a hurry he’s in after all these years. Don’t you ever go to bed?” “Tell me to-night. I must know. I can’t bear the suspense.” “I put up with it for five years.---- Well, if you won’t go home like a good boy, you won’t. There’s a couch over there.” She broke from me, leaving me kneeling with my arms empty. As the door opened into the room beyond I had a glimpse of the curtained bed.