I entreat you, I implore you to be my wife." Marie-Anne listened in utter bewilderment.

Vertigo seized her; even reason seemed to totter upon its throne.
But now, it had been Chanlouineau who, in his prison-cell, cried that he died for love of her.

Now, it was Martial who avowed his willingness to sacrifice his ambition and his future for her sake.
And the poor peasant condemned to death, and the son of the all-powerful Duc de Sairmeuse, had avowed their passion in almost the very same words.
Martial paused, awaiting some response--a word, a gesture.

But Marie-Anne remained mute, motionless, frozen.
"You are silent," he cried, with increased vehemence.

"Do you question my sincerity?
No, it is impossible! Then why this silence?
Do you fear my father's opposition?
You need not.