“No,” and she shook her head more sadly than before.
“And what makes you think that I am telling a lie?”
“Because the ring is large enough to go over two of my fingers.” And Thibault’s finger would certainly have made two of Agnelette’s.
“If it is too large, Agnelette,” he said, “we can have it made smaller.”
“Goodbye, Monsieur Thibault.”
“What! Goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“You are going to leave me?”
“Yes, I am going.”
“And why, Agnelette?”
“Because I do not love liars.”
Thibault tried to think of some vow he could make to reassure Agnelette, but in vain.
“Listen,” said Agnelette, with tears in her eyes, for it was not without a great effort of self-control that she was turning away, “if that ring is really meant for me. …”
“Agnelette, I swear to you that it is.”
“Well then, give it me to keep till our wedding day, and on that day I will give it back to you, that you may have it blessed.”
“I will give it you with all my heart,” replied Thibault, “but I want to see it on your pretty hand. You were right in saying that it was too large