if I thought I was keeping a promise to--to you, I'd not break it. Will
you ask me to promise?" he persisted, watching her intently.

"Why, of course," she answered kindly, almost gently; the compliment was
so real, he could not be all bad.

"Then say my name, and ask me," he said.

"Monsieur--"

"Leave out the monsieur," he interrupted.

"Yves Savary dit Detricand, will you promise me, Guida Landresse--"

"De Landresse," he interposed courteously.

"--Guida Landresse de Landresse, that you will never again drink wine to
excess, and that you will never do anything that"--she paused confused.
"That you would not wish me to do," he said in a low voice.

"That I should not wish you to do," she repeated in a half-embarrassed
way.

"On my honour I promise," he said slowly.

A strange feeling came over her. She had suddenly, in some indirect,
allusive way, become interested in a man's life. Yet she had done
nothing, and in truth she cared nothing. They stood looking at each
other, she slightly embarrassed, he hopeful and eager, when suddenly a
step sounded without, a voice called "Guida!" and as Guida coloured and