To be young, and to find one's self surrounded by the relics of youth; what an existence! She had never known the beauty of a glittering ballroom, felt the music of a waltz mingle with the quick throbs of the heart, the pleasure of bestowing pleasure.
She had never read the mute yet intelligent admiration in a young man's eyes.And what young woman does not yearn for the honest adoration of an honest man? Poor, lonely princess indeed.
For, loving the world as he himself did, Maurice understood what was slipping past her.Every moment the roots of love were sinking deeper into his heart and twining firmly about, as a vine to a trellis.
Is there a mental telegraphy, an indefinable substance which is affected by the close proximity of a presence, which, while we do not see, we feel? Perhaps; at any rate, Maurice suddenly became aware of that peculiar yet now familiar agitation of his nerves.Instinctively he turned his head.In the doorway which separated the chamber from the conservatory stood her Royal Highness.She was dressed entirely in black, which accentuated the whiteness--the Carrara marble whiteness--of her exquisite skin.In the dark, shining coils swept back from her brow lay the subtle snare of a red rose.There was no other color except on the full lips.She saw Maurice, but she was so far away that the faint reflection of the rose on her cheeks was gone before he reached her side.
"I was afraid," she said, lowering her eyes as she uttered the fib, "that you would not come after all.""It would have been impossible for me to stay away," he replied, his eyes ardent.The princess looked away."And may I ask after the health of the dog?""Thanks to you, Monsieur; he is getting along finely.Poor dog;he will always limp.What is it that makes men inflict injuries on dumb creatures?""It is the beast that is envious of the brute.""And your hand?" with a glance sympathetic and inquiring.
"My hand?"
"Yes; did you not injure it?"
"O!"He laughed and held out two gloved hands for her inspection.
"That was only a scratch.In fact, I do not remember which hand it was.""You are very modest.I should have made much of it."He could not translate this; so he said: "There was nothing injured but my hat.I seem unfortunate in that direction."She smiled, recalling the incident in the archbishop's garden.
"I shall keep the hat, however," he said, "as a souvenir.""Souvenirs, Monsieur," she replied carelessly, "and old age are synonymous.You and I ought not to have any souvenirs.Have you seen the picture gallery? No? Then I shall have the pleasure of showing it to you.Monseigneur is very proud of his gallery.He has a Leonardo, a Botticelli, a Murillo, and a Rembrandt.And they really show better in artificial light, which softens the effect of time."Half an hour was passed in the gallery.It was very pleasant to listen to her voice as she described this and that painting, and the archbishop's adventures in securing them.It did not seem possible to him that she was a princess, perhaps destined to become a queen, so free was she from the attributes of royalty, so natural and ingenuous.He caught each movement of her delicate head, each gesture of her hand, the countless inflections of her voice, the lights which burned or died away in the dark wine of her eyes.
Poor devil! he mused, himself in mind; poor fool! He forgot the world, he forgot that he was a prisoner on parole, he forgot the strife between the kingdom and the duchy, he forgot everything but the wild impossible love which filled his senses.He forgot even Prince Frederick of Carnavia.
In truth, the world was "a sorry scheme of things." It was grotesque with inequalities.He had no right to love her; it was wrong to give in to the impulses of the heart, the natural, human impulses.A man can beat down the stone walls of a fort, scale the impregnable heights of a citadel, master the earth and the seas, but he can not surmount the invisible barriers which he himself erected in the past ages--the quality of birth.Ah!
if only she had been a peasant, unlettered and unknown, and free to be won! The tasks of Hercules were then but play to him!
Next she led him through the aisles of potted plants in the conservatory.She was very learned.She explained the origin of each flower, its native soil, the time and manner of its transportation.Perhaps she was surprised at his lack of botanical knowledge, he asked so many questions.But it was not the flowers, it was her voice, which urged him to these interrogations.
They were on the point of re-entering the reception chamber, when the jingle of a spur on the mosaic floor caused them to turn.Maurice could not control the start; he had forgotten all about Beauvais.The soldier wore the regulation full dress of the cuirassiers, white trousers, tucked into patent leather half-boots, a gray jacket with gold lace and decorations, red saber straps and a gray pelisse hanging from the left shoulder.Asplendid soldier, Maurice grudgingly admitted.What would the Colonel say? The situation was humorous rather than otherwise, and Maurice smiled.
"I was looking for your Highness," said Beauvais, as he came up, "to pay my respects.I am leaving." His glance at Maurice was one of polite curiosity.
"Colonel Beauvais," said the princess, coldly, "Monsieur Carewe, of the American Legation in Vienna."She was not looking at the Colonel, but Maurice was, and the Colonel's total lack of surprise astonished him.The gaze of the two men plunged into each other's eyes like flashes of lightning, but that was all.
"I am charmed," said the Colonel, a half-ironical smile under his mustache."Your name is not unfamiliar to me.""No?" said Maurice, with studied politeness.
