I love you. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. She lied.
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