Yet human nature is but an imperfect thing, and love is selfish in its unselfishness. In my heart of hearts I was glad--glad that she would remember me, that she would think tenderly of our evening in the garden, and of my kisses on her lips. The memory thrilled through me. I thanked God that I had been brave enough to snatch that moment’s joy, that there was that between us! That there would always be; no stretch of time nor stress of circumstance could alter it--it was woven indelibly into the texture of our lives. Whenever she thought of me, whenever she visited this garden, yea, whenever any other dared speak to her of love, she must recall that moment when I had held her close against my heart and raised her lips to mine! And I--could I kiss another woman? I sat erect with a quick intaking of the breath, for I saw in my path a new pitfall, and one of my own digging. Must I confess to my betrothed that my heart was in another’s keeping, or did honor bid me to keep silent, to simulate affection, to lead her to the altar in the belief that it was she I loved? Oh, I should not shrink from confession; and she had the right to know--yet--yet would I not confess in the hope that she would set me free? But if she should feel as I did about this marriage, that honor demanded its consummation, that duty compelled her to sacrifice herself, whatever my offenses, would not such confession merely embitter her cup to no purpose? Yet even if I did not confess, would I be strong enough, self-controlled enough to cheat her woman’s eyes? Here was a question not easily answered; a dilemma the most awkward; a problem which I felt I could not solve alone. I could only hope that during our ride next day to Poitiers I might have opportunity to lay it before Mlle. de Chambray. She, I felt sure, would with her clear vision see instantly where my duty lay. So I put the problem from me and lay back in the seat and closed my eyes and lived over again, minute by minute, that brief, delicious evening. I recalled every look, every word, every gesture from the instant I had first perceived her on the threshold of the drawing-room until that other instant when at parting she had tossed the flower down to me. I held it to my lips and murmured low to it the words I had not dared to utter in her hearing.