"Regret!" Was it an outburst of grief, or wounded pride? He flushed, but continued firmly:
"Madame la Princesse, when first a marriage was proposed between us I was younger in experience if not in years than I am now; more used to the bivouac or hunters' camps than courts. And woman—" he smiled—"well, she was a vague ideal. At times, she came to me when sleeping before the huntsman's fire in the solitudes of the forest; again, was reflected from the pages of classic lore. She seemed a part of the woods and the streams, for by ancient art had she not been turned into trees and running brooks? So she whispered in the boughs and murmured among the rushes. Mere Schwärmerei. Do you care to hear? 'Tis the only defense I can offer."
Her contemptuous blue eyes remained fastened on him; she disdained to answer.
"It was a dreamer from brake and copse who went in the disguise of a jester to be near her; to win her for himself—and then, declare his identity. Well may you look scornful. Love!—it is not such a romantic quality—at court. A momentary pastime, perhaps, but—a deep passion—a passion stronger than rank, than death, than all—"
Above the face of her whom he addressed his glance rested upon Jacqueline, and he paused. The princess could but note, and a derisive expression crept about her mouth.
"Once I would have told you all," he resumed. "That night—when you were Lady of the Lists. But—"
He broke off abruptly, wishing to spare her the bitter memory of her own acts. Did she remember that day, when she had been queen of the chaplet? When she had crowned him whom now death and dishonor had overtaken?
"The rest, Madam, you know—save this." And stooping, he picked up the ornament that had dropped from Louis of Hochfels' neck. "Here, Princess, is the miniature you sent me. He, who used you so ill, stole it from me in prison; through it, he recognized the fool for the duke; with an assassin's blow he struck me down."
A moment he looked at that fair painted semblance. Did it recall the past too vividly? His face showed no pain; only tranquillity. His eye was rather that of a connoisseur than a lover. He smiled gently; then held it to her.
Mechanically she let the portrait slip through her fingers, and it fell to the moistened grass near the form of him who had wedded her. Then she drew back her dress so that it might not touch the body at her feet.