“Ah, if I were convinced that it is true,” he sighed, still laughing.

“What call have you to doubt it?  And anyhow, what does it matter whether you ’re convinced or not?  I remember, when I was a school-girl, I never was myself convinced of the theorems of Euclid; but I professed them gladly, for the sake of the marks they brought; and the eternal verities of mathematics remained unshaken by my scepticism.”

“Your reasoning is subtle,” laughed Peter.  “But the worst of it is, if I were ten times a Catholic, she wouldn’t have me.  So what’s the use?”

“You never can tell whether a woman will have you or not, until you offer yourself.  And even if she refuses you, is that a ground for despair?  My own husband asked me three times, and three times I said no.  And then he took to writing verses—­and I saw there was but one way to stop him.  So we were married.  Ask her; ask her again—­and again.  You can always resort in the end to versification.  And now,” the lady concluded, rising, “I have spoken, and I leave you to your fate.  I’m obliged to return to the hotel, to hold a bed of justice.  It appears that my innocent darlings, beyond there, innocent as they look, have managed among them to break the electric light in my sitting-room.  They’re to be arraigned before me at three for an instruction criminelle.  Put what I ’ve said in your pipe, and smoke it—­’tis a mother’s last request.  If I ’ve not succeeded in determining you, don’t pretend, at least, that I haven’t encouraged you a bit.  Put what I ’ve said in your pipe, and see whether, by vigorous drawing, you can’t fan the smouldering fires of encouragement into a small blaze of determination.”

Peter resumed his stroll backwards and forwards by the lakeside.  Encouragement was all very well; but . . .  “Shall I —­shall I not?  Shall I—­shall I not?  Shall I—­shall I not?” The eternal question went tick-tack, tick-tack, to the rhythm of his march.  He glared at vacancy, and tried hard to make up his mind.

“I’m afraid I must be somewhat lacking in decision of character,” he said, with pathetic wonder.

Then suddenly he stamped his foot.

“Come!  An end to this tergiversation.  Do it.  Do it,” cried his manlier soul.

“I will,” he resolved all at once, drawing a deep breath, and clenching his fists.

He left the Casino, and set forth to walk to Ventirose.  He could not wait for the omnibus, which would not leave till four.  He must strike while his will was hot.

He walked rapidly; in less than an hour he had reached the tall gilded grille of the park.  He stopped for an instant, and looked up the straight avenue of chestnuts, to the western front of the castle, softly alight in the afternoon sun.  He put his hand upon the pendent bell-pull of twisted iron, to summon the porter.  In another second he would have rung, he would have been admitted . . . .  And just then one of the little demons that inhabit the circumambient air, called his attention to an aspect of the situation which he had not thought of.