“M. de Tavernay,” said my host, coming up behind me and placing his hand affectionately upon my shoulder, “I confess to you that I do not wish to sit nodding here over the wine. I had not seen my wife for near a month, until a few hours ago; after to-morrow it may be that I shall never see her again. I know you will pardon me when I say that I cannot bear the thought of spending one moment of this night away from her.” “I beg of you to say no more,” I protested. “I too wish to join the ladies.” “I knew it!” he laughed; then his face sobered as he looked at me. “Come, my friend, I am going to speak to you frankly. It is a wonderful chance which brought you here to meet Charlotte; I cannot tell you how wonderful--you will learn for yourself some day. Make the most of it. She is a woman worth winning--but you have seen that. What perhaps you have not seen--since there are no eyes so blind as a lover’s--is that she may be won.” I caught a deep breath--a breath as much of agony as of joy. “You think so?” I murmured. “You think so?” “I am sure of it!” he said, and wrung my hand. “Good luck to you! Remember,” he added laughing, “a fortress of that sort is never to be taken by siege--it must be carried by assault!” and he led the way into the drawing-room. CHAPTER V. I MAKE MY CONFESSION. I LOOKED blindly about the room, with M. le Comte’s words ringing in my brain, and for a moment I did not see her. Then my eyes found her where she stood in the embrasure of a window, half concealed by the draperies. She was gazing out across the garden at the rising moon and she did not hear my approach until I had come quite near; then she looked up at me with a glance so soft, so caressing, that my heart leaped with a sudden suffocating rapture. “Oh, it is you,” she said, and passed her hand hastily before her eyes. “I was not expecting you so soon.” “The wine had no attractions for either M. le Comte or myself,” I answered, a little hoarsely. “I have come to claim your promise.” Without replying, she drew aside the curtain and stepped through the window upon a gravelled walk. I followed her with pulse throbbing strangely. Madame had consented then--I had scarcely dared hope it. But the whole adventure had about it something so strange, so unusual, that I had long since ceased to wonder at it, or to try to understand it. That madame should consent, almost as if we were betrothed, as if all this were a family arrangement--and then my heart grew chill at thought of the task that lay before me. For I knew that this was the last time that I should ever walk in this garden, or in any garden, with this sweet woman at my side. The yellow moon was just peeping over the tree-tops to the east, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves upon the branches. Somewhere in the distance a thrush was calling to its mate. The night seemed made for love.