Valentine, and carried her hand to his lips.

"I adore you!" he said, without attempting to hide the tears of
gratitude that fell upon those generous hands.

"Do you, indeed?" Zibeline murmured.

"You shall see!" he replied, rising. "Come, in your turn."

He led her before the portrait of the ancestral marshal of France, and
said:

"Twenty-three years ago I vowed before that portrait either to vanquish
the enemy or to regain with honor all that I had lost at play. I have
kept my word. Will you be my wife?"

"Ah, you know my heart is yours!" Zibeline whispered, hiding her face
upon his shoulder.

The door at the end of the gallery opened; the Duc and the Duchesse de
Montgeron appeared. Henri took Zibeline's hand and approached them.

"The Marquise de Prerolles!" he said, presenting her to his sister and
her husband.




CHAPTER XXIX