He was a man; it is
only the pope who is said to be infallible. His honor could not
save the king. All she had said was true. If he held to his word
there would be war and bloodshed.
On the other hand, if he surrendered, less harm would befall the
king, and the loss of his honor --was it honor?--would be well
recompensed for the remainder of his days by the love of this
woman. His long years of loneliness came back; he wavered. He
glanced first at her, then at the door; one represented all that
was desirable in the world, the other more loneliness, coupled
with unutterable regret. Still he wavered, and finally he fell.
"Madame, will you be my wife?"
"Yes." And it seemed to her that the word, came to her lips by
no volition of hers. As she had grown red but a moment gone, she
now grew correspondingly pale, and her limbs shook. She had
irrevocably committed herself. "No, no!" as she saw him start
forward with outstretched arms,. "not my lips till I am your
wife! Not my lips; only my hands!"
He covered them with kisses.
"Hush!" as she stepped back.
It was time. Maurice and the countess entered the room.
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