He opened a door, and gently pushing me in, closed it behind me. I found myself in a drawing-room, small and richly furnished. At first I thought that I was alone, for the light that came from a pair of shaded candles on the mantelpiece was very dim. But presently I discerned a woman’s figure standing by the window. I knew it was the princess, and I walked up to her, fell on one knee, and carried the hand that hung by her side to my lips. She neither moved nor spoke. I rose to my feet, and, piercing the gloom with my eager eyes, saw her pale face and the gleam of her hair, and before I knew, I spoke softly:
“Flavia!”
She trembled a little, and looked round. Then she darted to me, taking hold of me.
“Don’t stand, don’t stand! No, you mustn’t! You’re hurt! Sit down—here, here!”
She made me sit on a sofa, and put her hand on my forehead.
“How hot your head is,” she said, sinking on her knees by me. Then she laid her head against me, and I heard her murmur: “My darling, how hot your head is!”
Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover’s heart. I had come to humble myself and pray pardon for my presumption; but what I said now was:
“I love you with all my heart and soul!”
For what troubled and shamed her? Not her love for me, but the fear that I had counterfeited the lover as I had acted the King, and taken her kisses with a smothered smile.
“With all my life and heart,” said I, as she clung to me. “Always, from the first moment I saw you in the Cathedral! There has been but one woman in the world to me—and there will be no other. But God forgive me the wrong I’ve done you!”