“I have thought of that,” answered Maximilian. “But I hardly dare do that yet. You see, she is little more than a child, and as shy and timid as a fawn. I fear to break the spell by taking any step that might open her eyes. It is not only because I do not want to influence her consent that I have kept my rank concealed. I am almost equally afraid of frightening her, and causing her to become uneasy and constrained with me. I have watched her carefully; and from something which she let drop only to-day, I foresee what might happen if she got an inkling of whom I really was.”
“But this state of things cannot last forever. Sooner or later she must find it all out.”
“I know; and that is what torments me. The very shyness and simplicity which make me love her must perish as soon as I once declare my love. That is my curse. What can I do? I can only go on and enjoy this Arcadian life as long as fate allows it to last. When it is over—”
He did not finish the sentence, and for a little while the pair strode on side by side in silence, the elder man picking his way carefully over the dead branches and little spots of moisture which broke the path, while the younger one crunched blindly over everything in his way, his eyes half-closed in dreamy abstraction.
“Yes? When it is over?”
It was Auguste who spoke, with a meditative glance at his friend’s countenance.
“I cannot make up my mind. I do not know yet what I shall do.”
“You forget that you are in love,” observed the other cynically. “Perhaps there is not so much room for doubt as to what you will do as you suppose.”
The King smiled at him with a slight tinge of scorn.
“Perhaps you do not understand me, Auguste. The doubt in my mind is whether I shall make Dorothea—”