"Yes, I will teach you!" she said. "Teach you a number of things. Together we will put on the hat of darkness and go down into Hades. We shall taste the apples of the Hesperides—we will rob Mercure of his sandals—and Gyges of his ring. And one day, Paul—when together we have fathomed the meaning of it all—what will happen then, enfant?"
Her last word, "enfant," was a caress, and Paul was too bewildered with joy to answer her for a moment.
"What will happen?" he said at last. "I shall just love you—that's all!"
Then he remembered Isabella Waring, and suddenly covered his face with his hands.
They stopped for tea at the quaint châlet-hotel, and after it they wandered to pick gentians. The lady was sweet and sympathetic and gay; she ceased startling him with wild fancies; indeed, she spoke of simple everyday things, and got him to tell her of his home and Oxford, and his horses and his dogs. And when they arrived at the subject of Pike, her sympathy drew Paul nearer to her than ever. Of course she would love Pike if she only knew him! Who could help loving a dog like Pike? And his master waxed eloquent. Then, when he looked away, the lady's weird chameleon eyes melted upon him in that strange tenderness which might have been a mother's watching the gambols of her babe.
The shadows were quite deep when at last they decided to return to Lucerne—a small bunch of heaven's own blue flower the only trophy of the day.
Paul had never enjoyed himself so much in his twenty-three years of life. And what would the evening bring? Surely more joy. This parting at the landing could not be good-night!
But as the launch glided nearer and nearer his heart fell, and at last he could bear the uncertainty no longer.
"And for dinner?" he said. "Won't you dine me, my Princess? Let me be your host, as you have been mine all to-day."
But a stiffness seemed to fall upon her suddenly—she appeared to have become a stranger again almost.