Moving to the window--he had to stoop forward to keep her within the range of his sight--she took from it a glove, held it a moment, regarding it; then with a tender, yet whimsical laugh, a laugh half happiness, half ridicule of herself, she kissed it.
It was Claude's glove.

And if, with that before his eyes he could have restrained himself, the option was not his.

She turned in the act, and saw him; with a startled cry she put--none too soon--the table between them.
They faced one another across it, he flushed, eager, with love in his eyes, and on his lips; she blushing but not ashamed, her new-found joy in her eyes, and in the pose of her head.
"Anne!" he cried.

"I know now! I know! I have seen and you cannot deceive me!" "In what ?" she said, a smile trembling on her lips.

"And of what, Messer Claude, are you so certain, if you please ?" "That you love me!" he replied.