They are not mine.

They are nothing to me.

Take them, and say that you do not think of me--Nay, I cannot say the words, Mademoiselle.' 'But there is something--else! What else ?' she cried, her head thrown back, her eyes, bright as any wild animal's, searching mine.

'Ha! my brother?
What of him?
What of him, sir ?' 'For him, Mademoiselle--I would prefer that you should tell me no more than I know already,' I answered in a low voice.

'I do not wish to be in that affair.