ak of Paris to me.
Is there any place like it on earth?"

"It is very beautiful. But will you be mine?"

"I will be nobody else's in the world--does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, for the present."

"Now tell me of the Tuileries, and the Louvre," she continued
evasively.

"I hate talking of Paris! Well, I remember one sunny room in the
Louvre which would make a fitting place for you to live in--the
Galerie d'Apollon. Its windows are mainly east; and in the early
morning, when the sun is bright, the whole apartment is in a perfect
blaze of splendour. The rays bristle and dart from the encrustations
of gilding to the magnificent inlaid coffers, from the coffers to
the gold and silver plate, from the plate to the jewels and precious
stones, from these to the enamels, till there is a perfect network of
light which quite dazzles the eye. But now, about our marriage--"

"And Versailles--the King's Gallery is some such gorgeous room, is it
not?"

"Yes. But what's the use of talking of gorgeous rooms? By the way, the
Little Trianon would suit us beautifully to live in, and you might
walk in the gardens in the moonlight and think you were in some
English shrubbery; it is laid out in English fashion."

"I should hate to think that!"

"Then you could keep to the lawn in front of the Grand Palace.
All about there you would doubtless feel in a world of historical
romance."

He went on, since it was all new to her, and described Fontainebleau,
St. Cloud, the Bois, and many other familiar haunts of the Parisians;
till she said--

"When used you to go to these places?"

"On Sundays."

"Ah, yes. I dislike English Sundays. How I should chime in with
their manners over there! Dear Clym, you'll go back again?"

Clym shook his head, and looked at the eclipse.

"If you'll go back again I'll--be something," she said tenderly,
putting her head near his breast. "If you'll agree I'll give my
promise, without making you wait a minute longer."

"How extraordinary that you and my mother should be of one mind about
this!" said Yeobright. "I have vowed not to go back, Eustacia. It is
not the place I dislike; it is the occupation."

"But you can go in some other capacity."

"No. Besides, it would interfere with my scheme. Don't press that,
Eustacia. Will you marry me?"

"I cannot tell."

"Now--never mind Paris; it is no better than other spots. Promise,
sweet!"

"You will never adhere to your education plan, I am quite sure; a