“A man is bound by his oath, monsieur,” I answered, trembling a little, but meeting without flinching the searching gaze he bent upon me. “Courage! Courage!” my heart repeated. “I press this point,” he added, “even perhaps to indiscretion, because M. de Marigny dropped what I fancied was a hint that you had formed another attachment.” I put the past behind me and faced the future squarely. The moment had come to lie, and I met it as bravely as I could. “M. de Marigny was mistaken,” I said steadily. “Be assured that if your daughter does me the honor to accept my hand she will find that my heart goes with it.” He sprang to his feet and gripped both my hands in his. “Spoken like a man!” he cried, his eyes shining strangely. “I feel that I have found a son--I give you my daughter gladly. Come,” he added, “she awaits you;” and he opened a door and motioned me to precede him. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GUERDON. FOR a moment I did not see her; then I caught the shimmer of her gown from the embrasure of a window, where she stood staring absently down into the street below, and there floated to me a faint perfume which shook me with the agony of recollection. I turned blindly, expecting her father to announce me, but found with astonishment that he had closed the door and left me alone with her. A terrible shyness and indecision seized me. To advance to her boldly, to take her hand--that was the lover’s part, and yet I felt myself utterly unable to fulfil it. Ah, what a horrible chance that she, too, should use that perfume! I had not reckoned upon that! “Courage! Courage! Courage!” I repeated to myself, and touched the note warm against my heart; but in this supreme crisis, its power failed me. So I stood where I was, the cold sweat upon my brow, looking foolish enough, as I have since been told, and waited for her to turn and discover me. That she did not turn surprised me more and more, for surely she must have heard the opening and closing of the door. Then, as I saw her more clearly, I perceived that she, too, was agitated, for she carried her handkerchief to her lips once or twice with a hand anything but steady. Whatever my cowardice, I could not permit her to suffer because of it, so I gripped my courage to me and advanced to her side. “Mademoiselle,” I began stammeringly. She turned suddenly and faced me--and I stood struck to stone, staring, not able to believe my eyes; for it was she--my love--Charlotte! “You!” I said hoarsely at last. “You!” The blood was coming and going in her cheeks; her eyes were luminous with a strange fire. She held out a trembling hand to me, and when I kissed it I found it cold as ice. “Did you think it very heartless of me to desert you, M. de Tavernay?” she questioned. “At first I could scarcely believe it,” I stammered, still staring at her; “but afterwards I saw that you meant to be kind. I should not have won the battle if you had stayed.” “And you did win it!” she cried.