It is only a question of a little courage and good-
will. But, after all, your father may consent. Why should he not?"
"Because--" she hesitated a little.
"Because I am not a Roman prince, you mean." Anastase glanced
quickly at her.
"No. He wants me to marry Frangipani."
"Why did you never tell me that?"
"I did not know it when we last met. My mother told me of it last
night."
"Is the match settled?" asked Gouache. He was very pale.
"I think it has been spoken of," answered Faustina in a low voice.
She shivered a little and pressed her hands together. There was a
short silence, during which Anastase did not take his eyes from
her, while she looked down, avoiding his look.
"Then there is no time to be lost," said Gouache at last. "I will
go to your father to-morrow morning."
"Oh--don't, don't!" cried Faustina, suddenly, with an expression
of intense anxiety.
"Why not?" The artist seemed very much surprised.
"You do not know him! You do not know what he will say to you! You
will be angry and lose your temper--he will be cruel and will
insult you, and you will resent it--then I shall never see you
again. You do not know--"
"This is something new," said Gouache. "How can you be sure that
he will receive me so badly? Have your people talked about me?
After all, I am an honest man, and though I live by my profession
I am not poor.
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