You do not want her.

What is she to you more than other women ?" "What is she to you more than other women ?" Tavannes retorted, in a tone so sharp and incisive that Tignonville started, and a faint touch of colour crept into the wan cheek of the girl, who sat between them, the prize of the contest.

"What is she more to you than other women?
Is she more?
And yet--you want her!" "She is more to me," Tignonville answered.
"Is she ?" the other retorted, with a ring of keen meaning.

"Is she?
But we bandy words and the storm is rising, as I warned you it would rise.
Enough for you that I _do_ want her.

Enough for you that I _will_ have her.