"Oh—Paul! Don't!" cried Hermione. Her voice seemed to choke her as she spoke. Then she took courage, and continued more calmly: "Please, please wait a little longer,—it is such a risk!"
Paul laughed again, almost roughly.
"A risk! What risk? Your father has done all but give his formal consent. What possible danger can there be?"
"No. Not from him,—it is not that!"
"Well, what is it? Hermione, what in the name of Heaven is the matter? Speak, darling! Tell me what it is. I cannot bear this much longer." Indeed, the man's suppressed passion was on the very point of breaking out, and the blue light quivered in his eyes, while his face grew unnaturally pale.
"Oh, Paul—I cannot tell you—you frighten me so," murmured Hermione in broken tones. "Oh, Paul! Forgive me—forgive me!"
At that moment Gregorios Balsamides passed before their corner, a lady in a red hood and a red mask leaning on his arm.
"Hush!" exclaimed Paul, under his breath, as the couple came near them. But Gregorios only nodded familiarly to Paul, stared a moment at his pale face, glanced at the black domino, and went on with his partner. "I do not want to frighten you, dearest," continued Paul, when no one could hear them. "And what have I to forgive? Do not be afraid, and tell me what all this means."
"I must," answered Hermione, her strength returning suddenly. "I must, or I should despise myself. You must not go to my father, Paul—because I—I am not sure of myself."
She trembled visibly under her domino, as she spoke the last words almost in a whisper, hesitating and yet forcing herself to tell the truth. Paul glanced uneasily at the black drapery which veiled all her head and figure, and with one hand he grasped the carved end of the sofa, so that it cracked under the pressure. For some seconds there was an awful silence, broken only by low sounds which told that Hermione was crying.