"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife ?" It was very correctly done, Claude de Chauxville had regained control over himself.

He was able to think about the riches which were evidently hers.

But through the thought he loved the woman.
The lady lowered the feather screen which she was holding between her face and the fire.

Regardless of the imminent danger in which she was placing her complexion, she studied the glowing cinders for some moments, weighing something or some persons in her mind.
"No, my friend," she answered in French, at length.
The baron's face was drawn and white.

Beneath his trim black mustache there was a momentary gleam of sharp white teeth as he bit his lip.
He came nearer to her, leaning one hand on the back of her chair, looking down.