For a moment, Henri cannot breathe. True, he would never have been so bold as to buy the ring if he had not been certain of Sybil’s answer, but doubts can still beset a man at moments like this, and to hear her yes before he has even properly asked sends giddy joy through him.

A moment passes before he realizes that, by God, he has not even said the words. “Ah- ah, yes. Alors-“ Fumbling, Henri pick up the ring from her upturned palm, and sinking down beside her, takes her hand.

“Sybil, ma chere, mon amour-“ Strange, but even now, the words stick in his throat. “Will you marry me?"