She had been too
precipitate. She brought together the subtle forces of her mind.
She could gain nothing by force; she must use cunning. To hold
him at arm's length, and yet to hold him, was her desire. She
had reckoned on wax; a man stood before her. All at once the
flutter of admiration stirred in her heart. She was a soldier's
daughter, the daughter of a man who loved strong men. And this
man was doubly strong because he was fearless and honest. She
read in his eyes that a moment more and he had kissed her, a
thing no man save her father had ever done.
"O, Monsieur," she said lightly, "you soldiers are such forward
lovers! You have not even asked me if I love you." He made a
move to regain her hands. "No, no!" darting behind the chair.
"You must not take my hands; you do not realize how strong you
are. I am not sure that my heart responds to yours."
"Tell me, what must I do?" leaning across the chair.
"You must have patience. A woman must be wooed her own way, or
not at all. What a whirlwind you are!"
"I would to heaven," with a gesture indicative of despair, "that
you had kept me behind bars and closed doors.
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