’Isn’t there another inference to be drawn from my inability to lie to you?’ he asked.

She smiled on him from her saddle.  ‘Oh, perhaps there are a hundred.’

‘Don’t you think a reasonable inference is that—­I love you?’

She laughed.

‘You know I love you,’ he persisted.

’Oh, the conventions of the game! the necesary formula, like “Dear” at the beginning of a letter!’ she cried.

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘Qui m’aime me suive,’ she said, spurring Bezigue into a rapid trot.

XII.

But the next day he found her already installed in their nook among the trees.

‘I hate people who doubt my word,’ he said.

‘Oh, now you hate me?’

‘I love you.  I love you.’

She drew away a little.

’Oh, you needn’t be afraid.  I shan’t touch you.  Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Do men always glare savagely like that at women they love?’

‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘How long have you known me?’

‘All my life.  A fortnight—­three weeks.  But that’s a lifetime.’

‘And what do you know about me?’

‘Everything.  I know that you’re adorable.  And I adore you.’

’Adorable—­at moments.  Do you know whether I am—­married, for example?’

’I know that if you are, I should like to kill your husband.  Are you?  Tell me.  Put me out of suspense.  Let me go home and open a vein.’

‘Have I the air of a jeune fille?’

‘Thank goodness, no.  But there are such things as widows.’

‘And what more do you know about me?’

‘Tell me—­are you married?’

‘You may suppose that I’m a widow.’

‘Thank God!’

She laughed.

‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.

‘Oh, marriage is such a bore,’ she reminded him.

‘Will you marry me?’

‘No,’ she said.  ‘But you may give me a cigarette.’

And for a while they smoked without speaking.

‘I hope at any rate you believe me now,’ he said.

’Because you’ve offered to make the crowning sacrifice?  By the bye, what is my number?’

‘Oh, don’t,’ he cried.  ’You’re the only woman I’ve ever cared a straw for; and I care so much for you that I’d—­I’d—­’ He stammered, seeking for a thing to say he’d do.

‘You’d go to the length of marrying me.  Only fancy!’

‘Oh, you may laugh.  But I love you.’

‘Do you love me as much as you used to love Helene?’

‘I love you as much as it’s possible for a man to love a woman.’

‘Do you know what I think?’

‘No.  What?’

’If she were to send for you, one of these days, I think you’d forget me utterly.  Your old love would come back at sight of her.  They say she’s very good-looking.’