In one of the curtained windows, far removed from the throne, sat Truxton King and Loraine Tullis.
All about them people were watching the delicate little scene, smiling drowsily at the Grand Duke's tender comedy. No one was looking at the two in the curtained recess. Her hand was in his, her head sank slowly toward his inviting shoulder; her heavy lids drooped lower and lower, refusing to obey the slender will that argued against complete surrender. At last her soft, regular breathing told him that she was asleep. Awaiting his opportunity, he tenderly kissed the soft, brown hair, murmured a gentle word of love, and settled his own head against the thick cushions.
Everywhere they dozed and nodded. The Grand Duke smiled and blinked his little eyes. He was very wide awake.
That is how he happened to see the Prince move restlessly and half open his sleep-bound eyes. The Grand Duke leaned forward with his hand to his ear, and listened. He had seen the boy's lips move. From dreamland came Bobby's belated:
"Good-ni—ight."