"Lance," said Leone, "do you know that while Lady Lanswell was talking to me I went mad—I am quite sure of it. I said such dreadful things to her; did I mean them?"
"How should I know, my—Leone; but we will not talk about it; never mind what my mother says, I do not wish to hear it. She came between us once, but she never will again. She parted us once, she shall never part us again—never. There can be no harm in my going to Berlin, and there I shall go—that is, always with your consent and permission."
"That you have. But, Lance, is it true that Lady Marion does not wish you to go to Berlin, and threatens to leave you if you do—is it true?"
"Let us talk about something else, Leone," he said. "We have but a few moments together."
"But I cannot think of anything else," she said; "because my heart is full of it."
What else she would have said will never be known, for at that moment there was a stir in the crowd, and they were separated.
She took home with her the memory of his last look—a look that said so plainly, "I love you and will go to Berlin for your sake." She took home with her the memory of that look, and lay sleepless through the whole night, wondering which of the evil spirits had taken possession of her.
The countess had gone in search of Lady Marion. She found her in her boudoir—the beautiful room she had shown with such pride to Madame Vanira.
Lady Chandos looked up eagerly as the countess entered.
"Have you good news for me?" she cried, eagerly.