He heard her sobs lessen as she struggled to master her tears; he heard her move towards him. “Take me,” she muttered. “I wish it--I meant what I said--I am yours. I could make you happier--let me--I _will_ keep my word.” “Ah, hush!” he answered hoarsely; “you have not even seen me.” “You take away my courage,” she interrupted. “I could have done it--you would never have known.” She broke into sobs again. “Why did you do it? Why was everything so cruel? I think I shall go mad. Luc, Luc, I loved you--on my soul I did! I would have died for you. But why did you go away and come back changed--changed to me? You do not want my love! You refuse my faith! Who was that woman you went with? Where is she now?” “Dead--dead--dead.” “Ah! Does it matter to you?” Luc felt his way nearer to her. He moved into the dim circle of the fire-glow; he could make out her misty shape. “Do you not want me?” she asked, and her voice was steady now. “Yes,” said Luc--“more than I ever wanted you. You asked about the--Countess. She was brave and kind and, I think, had virtues I know not of. I was never more than outside her life--she was not of the same blood--she did not understand. You do--you know what I can do--you will not tempt me.” “Tempt you,” she repeated softly. “But if I _wanted_ it?” “But you do not, Clémence,” he said gravely and sadly. “You are only pretending for my sake, for my father’s sake, for the sake of your own ideals. And presently you would come to hate me.” She rose and moved restlessly. “Do--you--not believe in love,” she asked hesitatingly “in love being stronger than--anything?” “Yes.” “Then why cannot we--surmount this?” Luc was silent. “Why?” persisted Clémence. He thought she was straining towards him through the darkness. “Ah, my dear,” he cried brokenly, “if you loved me--how different! You said just now, ‘I could have done it--you would never have known.’ Do not try to deceive me.” There was a long silence, then she answered in a muffled but steady tone-- “You are right, Monsieur. I will not dare to force on you my ideas. You must act by your own--I will not humiliate you by insisting on your taking any sacrifice. I am speaking very coldly. Forgive me. My heart is not cold. I see there was not in either of our affections anything strong enough to weather storms--and you want the rest of your life free. And I see that you cannot keep me to an old promise--a de Clapiers, Monsieur, can only behave as you have behaved.” She gave a great sigh, as if she was exhausted, and a chill sense of desolation filled the room. “Tell me,” said Luc--“you were afraid?” “Yes,” she admitted lifelessly; “but I would have done it.” “Mademoiselle, I never doubted your courage.” “I--did not lie to you,” came her toneless voice, “when I vowed--I meant----” “I know,” he said--“I know.” “And your father--your poor father----” “He has courage too,” answered Luc, and he laughed. “Light the lamp now, Mademoiselle,” he added.