“Lovely Aiella, do not say that, I implore,” he cried, slipping down with one arm around her waist, his face close to the sweet hair of her turned head (and now with the fired-wine and nearness it was not of Maritzl of Stojenrosek he thought of, Maritzl lost, or of Lalette, or of the interruption that would come, but only of desire), and he slipped farther to one knee, not saying anything any more, only drawing her hands to him and kissing them again and again.
She took them from him and lifted his face gently to look him straight in the eyes, for one long breath in which the sound of the twittering recorders came from the floor beneath; then the Countess Aiella rose a trifle unsteadily to her feet, and as Rodvard rose also, holding her in the circle of his arms, said; “Shall we kiss?”
Her face was in shadow as the full lips met his, but as he swung her from her feet toward the divan, her eyes came open (and he saw in those deep pools that she would resist no longer, only hope that it would be better than the others). He half fell across her, with fingers and lips they devoured each other—
The creak of the opening door shivered through every muscle. “Be careful, my lord,” said Cleudi’s voice, strongly. “By the Service! What’s here?”
Rodvard rolled himself afoot (the thought of that other union unconsummated in Mme. Kaja’s garret shouting a trumpet through his mind and making him now glad, glad of this failure) and around to see Cleudi, all in his purple costume, with the pudgy Duke of Aggermans, and between the two a masque dressed as a bear. The man was very drunk; as the lolling white head came upright in its swing, Rodvard found himself looking into the eyes of the people’s friend, Baron Brunivar, and even in the dim light, was appalled by what he saw there, for the man was not only drunk, he had a witchery upon him.
The mouth opened. “Sh’ my always darling,” said Brunivar thickly, and disengaging his arm from Cleudi’s, swung it in a round gesture. “Glad you foun’ her for me.” Aggermans released the other arm; the Baron took three stumbling steps toward Aiella, and as she slipped his clutch, stumbled onto the divan, pushed himself around, focussed his eyes with difficulty, and cried; “Now I foun’ her. Festival night. You go leave us, and I do anything you want tomorrow, my lor’.”
Aggermans’ round face had gone cherry-red. “That I can credit, my lord,” he said, looking steadily not at Brunivar but at the Countess Aiella. “The more since I once would have done the same. But it is too high a price for the temporary favors of a bona roba.”
The Countess laughed. “The pleasure of your Grace’s company has been so small that you must not blame me if I seek elsewhere.” She turned to Cleudi with a certain dignity. “As for you, my lord, I know whom I have to thank for this shame, and believe me, I will not forget it.”
He bowed. “If the memory lasts until the next time when you laugh over having given a rendezvous you never meant to keep, I shall feel myself repaid for my troubles,” he said.
“Ah, she has been deceiving you, too?” said Aggermans, and turned toward Rodvard as Brunivar made one more pawing effort to grasp the girl. “And who is this? I think I should like to remember him.” (Concentrated venom streamed from his eyes.)