He had completely dropped the _dilettante_ tone, the sneering cynicism which usually characterised him, and spoke with force and heat. So earnest, so impassioned, was he, that May stood astonished at his vehemence. Even if she had misread the letter, there could now be no doubt as to the sincerity of his devotion. No desire for mere reparation could have so inspired him. Never, even in the earliest days of their wretched folly, had he spoken so strongly. Would it be possible for her to accept the future which De Tournefort proposed to her? He saw her hesitation, and took it for a favourable sign. 'You will say "yes" to that question?' he said eagerly. 'O May, you will not refuse me what is now the one hope of my life!' 'A man's life is made up of such hopes,' she replied, after a moment's reflection, and yours is not likely to be an exception. 'It can never be, Gustave; you must never see me again!' 'Never see you again, May! Good heavens! what _can_ you mean? Never see you more, now that the worst which could happen has befallen you, and there is no one to stand by you but me!' An odd sort of smile, a smile of more expression than had been common to May's face, passed slowly over it--a smile which would have wrung the heart of any woman who loved her and had been there to see it--as she retreated to a chair by the window, and sank into it wearily. 'No one to stand by me but _you_,' she repeated, not bitterly, but dreamily, as though she were talking to herself. 'I suppose that is true; and if so, I have less than no one: I am quite, utterly alone.' 'Only for a little while, only until the law will let me claim you.'