The Puppet Crown [112]
A soft, rose-colored darkness pervaded the room. Presently a darker shadow tiptoed over the threshold. He turned, and the shadow approached. Madame's gray eyes, full of lambent fires, looked into his own.
"I was seeking you," she said. The jewels in her hair threw a kind of halo above her head.
"Have I the happiness to be necessary to you?" he asked.
"You have not been enjoying yourself."
"No, Madame; my conscience is, unhappily, too green." He turned to the window again for fear he would lose control of himself.
"I have a confession to make to you," she said humbly. How broad his shoulders were, was her thought.
"It can not concern me," he replied.
"How?"
"There is only one confession which I care to hear. You made it once, though you are not willing to repeat it. But I have your word, Sylvia; I am content. Not all the world could make me believe that you would willingly retract that word."
Her name, for the first time coming from his lips, caused her to start. She sent him a penetrating glance, but it broke on a face immobile as marble.
"I do not recollect granting you permission to use my given name," she said.
"O, that was before the world. But alone, alone as we are, you and I, it is different." The smile which accompanied these words was frankness itself, but it did not deceive Madame, who read his eyes too well. "Ali, but the crumbs you give this love of mine are so few!" "You are the only man in the world permitted to avow love to me. You have kissed my hand."
"A privilege which seems extended to all."
Madame colored, but there was not light enough for him to perceive it.
"The , hand you kissed is the hand of the woman; others kiss it to pay homage. Monsieur, 'forgive me for having deceived you, you were so easy to deceive." His eyes met hers steadily.
"I am not Madame simply. I am Stephonia Sylvia Auersperg; the name I assumed was my mother's." His lack of surprise alarmed her.
"I am well aware of that," he said. "You are the duchess."
Something in his tone warned her of a crisis, and she put forth her cunning to avert it. "And. you-you will not love me less?" her voice vibrant as the string of a viol. "I am a princess, but yet a woman. In me there are two, the woman and the princess. The princess is proud and ambitious; to gain her ends she stops at nothing. As a princess she may stoop to trickery and deceit, and step back untouched. But the woman-ah, well; for this fortnight I have been most of all the woman."
"And all this to me-is a preamble to my dismissal, since my promise remains unfulfilled? Madame, do not think that because fate has willed that my promise should become void, that my conscience acquits me of dishonor. For love of you I have thrown honor to the winds. But do I regret it? No. For I am mad, and being mad, I am not capable of reason. I have broken all those ties which bind a man's respect to himself. I have burned all bridges, but I laugh at that. It is only with the knowledge that your love is mine that I can hold high my head.
"As the princess in you is proud, so is the man in me. A princess? That is nothing; I love you. Were you the empress of all the Russias, the most unapproachable woman in the world, I should not hesitate to profess my love, to find some means of declaring it to you. I love you. To what further depths can I fall to prove it?" Again he sought the window, and leaned heavily on the sill. He waited, as a man waits for an expected blow.
As she listened a delicious sensation swept through her heart, a sensation elusive and intangible. She surrendered without question. At this moment the Eve in her evaded all questions. Here was a man. The mood which seized her was as novel as this love which asked nothing but love, and the willingness to pay any price; and the desire to test both mood and love to their full strength was irresistible. She was loved for herself alone; hitherto men had loved the woman less and the princess more. To surrender to both mood and love, if only
"I was seeking you," she said. The jewels in her hair threw a kind of halo above her head.
"Have I the happiness to be necessary to you?" he asked.
"You have not been enjoying yourself."
"No, Madame; my conscience is, unhappily, too green." He turned to the window again for fear he would lose control of himself.
"I have a confession to make to you," she said humbly. How broad his shoulders were, was her thought.
"It can not concern me," he replied.
"How?"
"There is only one confession which I care to hear. You made it once, though you are not willing to repeat it. But I have your word, Sylvia; I am content. Not all the world could make me believe that you would willingly retract that word."
Her name, for the first time coming from his lips, caused her to start. She sent him a penetrating glance, but it broke on a face immobile as marble.
"I do not recollect granting you permission to use my given name," she said.
"O, that was before the world. But alone, alone as we are, you and I, it is different." The smile which accompanied these words was frankness itself, but it did not deceive Madame, who read his eyes too well. "Ali, but the crumbs you give this love of mine are so few!" "You are the only man in the world permitted to avow love to me. You have kissed my hand."
"A privilege which seems extended to all."
Madame colored, but there was not light enough for him to perceive it.
"The , hand you kissed is the hand of the woman; others kiss it to pay homage. Monsieur, 'forgive me for having deceived you, you were so easy to deceive." His eyes met hers steadily.
"I am not Madame simply. I am Stephonia Sylvia Auersperg; the name I assumed was my mother's." His lack of surprise alarmed her.
"I am well aware of that," he said. "You are the duchess."
Something in his tone warned her of a crisis, and she put forth her cunning to avert it. "And. you-you will not love me less?" her voice vibrant as the string of a viol. "I am a princess, but yet a woman. In me there are two, the woman and the princess. The princess is proud and ambitious; to gain her ends she stops at nothing. As a princess she may stoop to trickery and deceit, and step back untouched. But the woman-ah, well; for this fortnight I have been most of all the woman."
"And all this to me-is a preamble to my dismissal, since my promise remains unfulfilled? Madame, do not think that because fate has willed that my promise should become void, that my conscience acquits me of dishonor. For love of you I have thrown honor to the winds. But do I regret it? No. For I am mad, and being mad, I am not capable of reason. I have broken all those ties which bind a man's respect to himself. I have burned all bridges, but I laugh at that. It is only with the knowledge that your love is mine that I can hold high my head.
"As the princess in you is proud, so is the man in me. A princess? That is nothing; I love you. Were you the empress of all the Russias, the most unapproachable woman in the world, I should not hesitate to profess my love, to find some means of declaring it to you. I love you. To what further depths can I fall to prove it?" Again he sought the window, and leaned heavily on the sill. He waited, as a man waits for an expected blow.
As she listened a delicious sensation swept through her heart, a sensation elusive and intangible. She surrendered without question. At this moment the Eve in her evaded all questions. Here was a man. The mood which seized her was as novel as this love which asked nothing but love, and the willingness to pay any price; and the desire to test both mood and love to their full strength was irresistible. She was loved for herself alone; hitherto men had loved the woman less and the princess more. To surrender to both mood and love, if only