But love him with the heart's love, the love which a woman gives to one man and only once ?" "Poor Victor!" said Anne.
"Oh, do not worry about Victor.

He is a poet.

One of their prerogatives is to fall in love every third moon.

But the poor boy! Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too.

I knew not what was going on till too late." "And you put your name to that paper!" "What would you?
Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, and there are black and blue spots on my arm yet." "Tell me about that grey cloak." "There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it.