taken prisoner, Monsieur," she says, suddenly. "I am capricious and cold
and ambitious. I have never been taught to value love above position.
How can I change now? How could I leave this France, and its court and
pleasures, for the wilds of a new country? No, no, Monsieur; I haven't
any of the heroine in me."

"'Tis not exactly to the wilds of a new country that I would take you,
Madame," and Calvert smiled palely, in spite of himself, "but to a very
fertile and beautiful land, where some of the kindest people in the
world live. But I do not deny that our life and pleasures are of the
simplest--'twould, in truth, be a poor exchange for the Marquise de St.
Andre."

"It might be a happy enough lot for some woman; for me, I own it would
be a sacrifice," said Adrienne, imperiously.

"Believe me, no one realizes more clearly than I do the sacrifice I
would ask you to make, with only the honest love of a plain American
gentleman for compensation. There are no titles, no riches, no courtly
pleasures in my Virginia; I can't even offer you a reputation, a little
fame. But my life is before me, and I swear, if you will but give me
some hope, I will yet bring you honors and some fortune to lay with my
heart at your feet! There have been days when you were so gracious that
I have been tempted to believe I might win your love," says poor
Calvert.

"If you mean I have knowingly encouraged this madness, Monsieur Calvert,
believe me, you mistake and wrong me."

"I do not reproach you," returned Calvert, smiling sadly. "I can easily
believe you did not mean to show me any kindness. This folly is all my
own, and has become so much a part of me that I think I would not have
done with it if I could. I would give you my life if it would do you any
good. You need not smile so mockingly. It is no idle assertion, and it
would be a poor gift, after all, as it is less than nothing since you
will not share it. I used to wonder what this love was," he goes on, as
if to himself, "that seizes upon men and holds them fast and changes
them so. I think I understand it now, and the beauty of it and the
degradation, too. I love you so that, if by some stroke of fate I could
be changed into a prince or a duke, like your Monsieur de Grammont or
Monsieur de Noailles, and you would give me your love, as to some such
exalted personage, I would be base enough to accept it, though I knew
you would never give it to the untitled American."

"Enough, Mons