He bent towards her. "Seemly or unseemly," he said in low, tense tones, "you shall love me!" Her dark eyes flashed. "I shall not, monsieur!" she cried, and shut her small teeth closely. With a haughty inclination of her pretty head, she left him--left him amongst the roses, in the sunshine, but cold at heart at what he had done. * * * * * He wooed her persistently. He was persistent by nature, and all his life he had never wanted anything as he wanted her. He bore the discomforts of the little inn without a murmur, and every day the roses on the little twisting paths found him among them. Mademoiselle was proud and cold; mademoiselle was proud and mocking, proud and wilful, proud and laughing, proud and non-comprehending--every mood in the world, one after another, was mademoiselle, but proud always--proud with them all. And at last he lost heart. So there came a day when the scent of the roses sickened him, when the twisting paths maddened him, and he stood before the little mistress of them all, white, stern, beaten. "I have come to say good-bye," he said, and the tone of his voice had changed. "Good-bye?" she repeated, and she gave him her hand without another word. "I would like to thank you for your kindness to me," he said dully; "but--well, perhaps some day you will understand what I feel now. I know you are too good for me. I don't see why you should ever have cared for me; but oh! my little Stéphanie, you are just all the world to me----" His voice broke, and he turned away down one of the little sunny paths. But there amongst the roses love came to him at last; for Stéphanie, with a sudden radiance in her face which sent all the pride away, ran after him, and he, seeing the radiance, straightway took her into his arms, and the scent of the roses grew sweet to him again. And all the explanation mademoiselle ever saw fit to give of her many unkind moods was--"You were so masterful, monsieur. You hammered out love, love, love, and 'you must,' and 'you shall'--till that day--then you wooed me as I would that I should be wooed." And he, remembering the words he had overheard when he stood beneath the garden wall, smiled and thought he understood. Not all peace was his wooing even now. His little mistress still had her moods, and was tantalisingly chary of her soft words and caresses. Moreover, she possessed a will that had never been thwarted, and she did not understand the words "shall" and "must," never having had them said to her. So that, sweet as he found his wooing, at times his brow grew dark; for he too had a strong will, and it irked him to have to make it give way to hers. And at last there came a matter in which he would not yield, and so they parted. For mademoiselle declared that always must Ancelles be her home. "When you are my wife," he said, "you must come with me to my house in town--in London, you know. What a change it will be for you, _petite_!"