"Noble heart! But, now less than ever—— To-morrow I will talk to you more freely on this subject than I have ever done. I will tell you everything. This is neither a fitting time nor place. I must return to the ball, where it is probable that my long absence causes surprise."
"Are you sufficiently rested and calm?"
"Yes; now I can resume my mask of impassibility."
"Ah! it costs you little to assume it, terrible woman!" cried the marquis, rising and pressing convulsively to his breast the arm that she had passed through his. "You are as invulnerable in the depths of your heart as you are on the surface."
"Do not say that, marquis," said the princess, detaining him and looking at him with a clear penetrating glance that sent a thrill through Michel's whole being. "At this solemn moment of my life, that is a stab of which you do not realize the depth. To-morrow, for the first time in the twelve years that we have known without comprehending each other, you will comprehend me perfectly! Come," she added, shaking her lovely head, as if to banish serious thoughts, "let us go and dance! But first let us say good-night to the naiad, so lovely in this light, and to this charming grotto, which will soon be desecrated by the indifferent multitude."
"Was it old Pier-Angelo who decorated it so beautifully?" inquired the marquis, turning toward the naiad.
"No," replied the princess, "it was he!"
And hurrying from the room, as if impelled by a courageous resolution, she suddenly drew the curtain aside and threw it upon Michel, who, by unhoped-for good-fortune, was thus doubly concealed when she passed very near him.
As soon as the disquietude due to his own situation as an interloper was dispelled, he entered the grotto, and finding that he was quite alone there, he sank upon the divan, beside the place the princess had occupied. All that he had heard had agitated him strangely; but all the reflections in which he might have indulged were overshadowed by the last words that extraordinary woman had uttered.
Those words might have been an enigma to an absolutely humble and innocent young man: "No, it was not Pier-Angelo; it was he!" What a mysterious reply, or what extraordinary abstraction! But to Michel it was not abstraction: that he did not relate to Pier-Angelo, but to himself. To the princess, therefore, he was a person whom it was not necessary to call by name, and she spoke of him in that concise and emphatic way to a man who was in love with her.