“Thank you,” she said. “After all, I was tilting at windmills. There is small danger that your betrothed has given her heart into another’s keeping. More probably she is guarding it sacredly for you. A girl has not a man’s opportunities for falling in love--nor a man’s temptations. Besides--oh, I can be frank with you, for I feel almost like your sister!--permit me to tell you, monsieur, that I think you a very handsome fellow, quite capable of consoling her for the loss of any girlish flame!” I did not like the words, nor the tone in which they were uttered. They lacked that sympathy, that consideration, which I felt I had the right to expect from her. Perhaps, too, my vanity was wounded by my very evident failure to touch her heart. “You are not treating me fairly, mademoiselle,” I said, “nor kindly.” “You will pardon me,” she retorted, her face fairly beaming, “if I fail to see the situation in such tragic light as you. It has for me an element of humor.” “It is fortunate that I at least continue to amuse you,” I said grimly. “Yes; there are not many people who amuse me. Besides, I am quite certain that a year hence, when you look back at this night, you also will be amused. I am flattered by your passion, since it proves that under certain favorable circumstances I am not devoid of attraction. But I should be extremely foolish to take it seriously--more especially since you are already betrothed.” “You are right,” I assented bitterly. “I am a coward to try to entangle you.” “Oh, you will not entangle me,” she answered easily. “I shall take good care to keep a tight grip on my heart. But all that does not prevent me liking you immensely, M. de Tavernay. I have often wished,” she went on, gazing at me from under half-closed lashes in a most provoking fashion, “that it were possible for me to have as a friend a man in whom I could wholly trust--a man young enough to understand the illusions of youth--young enough not to adopt toward me that paternal attitude which I detest--one whose kindness and sympathy I could always count upon and in whom I could confide. But I told myself that such a wish could never be fulfilled; that such friendships were too dangerous, that such a man did not exist. And yet, behold, here I have found him and he is bound in such a manner that there is no danger for either of us.” “I would not be too sure of that, mademoiselle,” I interrupted. “The bonds have not yet been forged which could not somehow be broken.” “But bonds of honor!” she protested. “It is your word!” “Yes, even those! There is a limit to endurance;” and I gripped my hands together to keep them away from her.