Now I am grateful for the fortune that will enable me to make life a continual enchantment for you.

I love you--and in the happiness and tender love which shall be yours in the future, I will compel you to forget all the bitterness of the past!" Marie-Anne knew the Marquis de Sairmeuse well enough to understand the intensity of the love revealed by these astounding propositions.
And for that very reason she hesitated to tell him that he had won this triumph over his pride in vain.
She was anxiously wondering to what extremity his wounded vanity would carry him, and if a refusal would not transform him into a bitter enemy.
"Why do you not answer ?" asked Martial, with evident anxiety.
She felt that she must reply, that she must speak, say something; but she could not unclose her lips.
"I am only a poor girl, Monsieur le Marquis," she murmured, at last.

"If I accepted your offer, you would regret it continually." "Never!" "But you are no longer free.

You have already plighted your troth.
Mademoiselle Blanche de Courtornieu is your promised wife." "Ah! say one word--only one--and this engagement, which I detest, is broken." She was silent.

It was evident that her mind was fully made up, and that she refused his offer.
"Do you hate me, then ?" asked Martial, sadly.
If she had allowed herself to tell the whole truth Marie-Anne would have answered "Yes." The Marquis de Sairmeuse did inspire her with an almost insurmountable aversion.
"I no more belong to myself than you belong to yourself, Monsieur," she faltered.
A gleam of hatred, quickly extinguished, shone in Martial's eye.
"Always Maurice!" said he.
"Always." She expected an angry outburst, but he remained perfectly calm.
"Then," said he, with a forced smile, "I must believe this and other evidence.