selle," Maximilien went on, "let us go no further if we do not
understand each other. I love you," he said, in a voice of deep emotion.
"Well, then," he added, as he heard the joyful exclamation she could not
suppress, "why ask me if I am of noble birth?"

"Could he speak so if he were not?" cried a voice within her, which
Emilie believed came from the depths of her heart. She gracefully raised
her head, seemed to find new life in the young man's gaze, and held out
her hand as if to renew the alliance.

"You thought I cared very much for dignities?" said she with keen
archness.

"I have no titles to offer my wife," he replied, in a half-sportive,
half-serious tone. "But if I choose one of high rank, and among women
whom a wealthy home has accustomed to the luxury and pleasures of a
fine fortune, I know what such a choice requires of me. Love gives
everything," he added lightly, "but only to lovers. Once married,
they need something more than the vault of heaven and the carpet of a
meadow."

"He is rich," she reflected. "As to titles, perhaps he only wants to try
me. He has been told that I am mad about titles, and bent on marrying
none but a peer's son. My priggish sisters have played me that
trick."--"I assure you, monsieur," she said aloud, "that I have had
very extravagant ideas about life and the world; but now," she added
pointedly, looking at him in a perfectly distracting way, "I know where
true riches are to be found for a wife."

"I must believe that you are speaking from the depths of your heart,"
he said, with gentle gravity. "But this winter, my dear Emilie, in less
than two months perhaps, I may be proud of what I shall have to offer
you if you care for the pleasures of wealth. This is the only secret I
shall keep locked here," and he laid his hand on his heart, "for on its
success my happiness depends. I dare not say ours."

"Yes, yes, ours!"

Exchanging such sweet nothings, they slowly made their way back to
rejoin the company. Mademoiselle de Fontaine had never found her lover
more amiable or wittier: his light figure, his engaging manners, seemed
to her more charming than ever, since the conversation which had made
her to some extent the possessor of a heart worthy to be the envy of
every woman. They sang an Italian duet with so much expression that the
audience applauded enthusiastically. Their adieux were in a conventional
tone, which concealed their happiness. In short, this day had been to