As for his language, it was the tongue of General Ople. But his bearing
was fine. If his clipped white silken hair spoke of age, his figure
breathed manliness. He was a picture, and she loved pictures.
For his own sake, she begged him to cease. She dreaded to hear of
something 'gentlemanly.'
'This is a new idea to me, my dear General,' she said. 'You must give me
time. People at our age have to think of fitness. Of course, in a sense,
we are both free to do as we like. Perhaps I may be of some aid to you.
My preference is for absolute independence. And I wished to talk of a
different affair. Come to me tomorrow. Do not be hurt if I decide that we
had better remain as we are.'
The General bowed. His efforts, and the wavering of the fair enemy's
flag, had inspired him with a positive re-awakening of masculine passion
to gain this fortress. He said well: 'I have, then, the happiness, madam,
of being allowed to hope until to-morrrow?'
She replied, 'I would not deprive you of a moment of happiness.
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