The coin shot from the violinist's thumb-nail, flew up into the air and
was caught on his palm, his left hand covering it.
"Heads, then, a June wedding. Tails, then _mees_ has her way, and the
event is put off till autumn? Right?"
"Yes."
Théo had turned away, and Brigit was free to look full into Joyselle's
face. It was a wonderful face in its absolute oneness of expression.
There were no complications, no remorse, nothing but wild and fierce
love of gambling, and hope that the woman he loved should remain free a
little longer.
"It is--tails."
Théo walked into the ballroom without a word, and Brigit found herself
close in his father's arms for a wild moment. "We have won, _mon adorée,
mon adorée_," he murmured. "Thank God!"
She drew away, trying to remember prudence.
"Yes. Then--this summer is ours. And in the autumn----"
"It is not even summer yet. Do not think of it. We shall be happy,
Brigitte, for you are my woman and I am your man. And the future--oh,
never mind the future, my love, my love!"