"But I do," said Maurice; "perhaps he understands that, and comes half-way.But it is rather strange to see a bulldog in this part of the country.""He was given to me, years ago, by an Englishman.""That accounts for it." He was experiencing a deal of cold, but he dared not mention it."And may I ask your name?""Ah, Monsieur," shyly, "to tell you my name would be to frighten you away.""I am sure nothing could do that," he declared earnestly.Had he been thinking of aught but her eyes he might have caught the significance of her words.But, then, the cold was numbing.
She surveyed him with critical eyes.She saw a clean-shaven face, brown, handsome and eager, merry blue eyes, a chin firm and aggressive, a mischievous mouth, a forehead which showed the man of thought, a slim athletic form which showed the man of action--all of which combined to produce that indescribable air which attaches itself to the gentleman.
"It is Alexia," she said, after some hesitation, watching him closely to observe the effect.
But he was as far away as ever."Alexia what?""Only Alexia," a faint coquetry stealing into her glance.
"O, then you are probably a maid?"
"Y--es.But you are disappointed?"
"No, indeed.You have put me more at ease.I suppose you serve the princess?""Whenever I can," demurely.
He could not keep his eyes from hers."They say that she is a very lonely princess.""So lonely." And the coquetry faded from her eyes as her glance wandered waterward and became fixed on some object invisible and far away."Poor lonely princess!"Maurice was growing colder and colder, but he did not mind.He had wished for some woman to talk to; his wish had been granted.
"I feel sorry for her, if what they say is true," having no other words.
"And what do they say, Monsieur?"
"That she and her father have been socially ostracized.I should be proud to be her friend." Once the words were gone from him, he saw their silliness."A presumptuous statement," he added; "Iam an obscure foreigner."
"Friendship, Monsieur, is a thing we all should prize, all the more so when it is disinterested."He said rapidly, for fear she might hear his teeth chatter:
"They say she is very beautiful.Tell me what she is like.""I am no judge of what men call beauty.As to her character, Ibelieve I may recommend that.She is good."He was sure that merriment twitched the corners of her lips, and he grew thoughtful."Alexia.Is that not her Highness's name also?""Yes, Monsieur; we have the same names." Her eyes fell, and she began to finger the pages of the book.
"I am rested now," he said, with a sudden distrust."I thank you.""Come, then, and I will show you the way to the gate.""I am sorry to have troubled you," he said.
She did not reply, and together they walked up the path.The plants were dying, and the odor of decay hovered about them.
Splashes of rich vermilion crowned the treetops, leaves of gold, russet and faded green rustled on the ground.The sun was gone behind the hills, the lake was tinted with salmon and dun, and Maurice (who honestly would have liked to run) was turning purple, not from atmospheric effect, but from the partly congealed state of his blood.Already he was thinking that his adventure had turned out rather well.It was but a ****** task for a man of his imagination to construct a pretty romance, with a kingdom for a background.A maid of honor, perhaps; no matter, he would find means for future communication.A glamour had fallen upon him.
As to the girl, who had scarce spoken to a dozen young men in her life, she was comparing four faces; one of a visionary character of which she had dreamed for ten years, and three which had recently entered into the small circle of her affairs.
It was little pleasure to her to talk to those bald diplomats, who were always saying what they did not mean, and meaning what they did not say.And the young officers in the palace never presumed to address her unless spoken to.
What a monotonous life it was! She was like a bird in a cage, ever longing for *******, not of the air, but of impulse.To be permitted to yield to the impulses of the heart! What a delightful thought that was! But she, she seemed apart from all which was desirable to youth.Women courtesied to her, men touched their hats; but homage was not what she wanted.To be free, that was all; to come and go at will; to laugh and to sing.
But ever the specter of royal dignity walked beside her and held her captive.
She was to wed a man on whom she looked with indifference, but wed him she must; it was written.A toy of ambition, she was neither more nor less.Ah, to be as her maids, not royal, but free.Of the three new faces one belonged to the man whom she was to wed; another was a tall, light-haired man whom she had seen from her carriage; the last walked by her side.And somehow, the visionary face, the faces of the man whom she was to wed and the light-haired man suddenly grew indistinct.She glanced from the corner of her eyes at Maurice, but meeting his glance, in which lay something that caused her uneasiness, her gaze dropped to the path.
