Love has nothing to say to 'perhaps':
it is will or shall, and takes no 'perhaps' though a thousand times
repeated!
"And you intend to marry this treasure trove of the forest--
perhaps?" continued Angelique, tapping the ground with a daintier
foot than the Intendant had ever seen before.
"It depends much on you, Mademoiselle des Meloises," said he. "Had
you been my treasure-trove, there had been no 'perhaps' about it."
Bigot spoke bluntly, and to Angelique it sounded like sincerity.
Her dreams were accomplished. She trembled with the intensity of
her gratification, and felt no repugnance at his familiar address.
The Intendant held out his hand as he uttered the dulcet flattery,
and she placed her hand in his, but it was cold and passionless.
Her heart did not send the blood leaping into her finger-ends as
when they were held in the loving grasp of Le Gardeur.
"Angelique!" said he. It was the first time the Intendant had
called her by her name. She started. It was the unlocking of his
heart she thought, and she looked at him with a smile which she had
practised with infallible effect upon many a foolish admirer.
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