“Ah, Monsieur,” shyly, “to tell you my name would be to frighten you away.”
“I am sure nothing could do that,” he declared earnestly. Had he been thinking of aught but her eyes he might have caught the significance of her words. But, then, the cold was numbing.
She surveyed him with critical eyes. She saw a clean-shaven face, brown, handsome and eager, merry blue eyes, a chin firm and aggressive, a mischievous mouth, a forehead which showed the man of thought, a slim athletic form which showed the man of action—all of which combined to produce that indescribable air which attaches itself to the gentleman.
“It is Alexia,” she said, after some hesitation, watching him closely to observe the effect.
But he was as far away as ever. “Alexia what?”
“Only Alexia,” a faint coquetry stealing into her glance.
“O, then you are probably a maid?”
“Y—es. But you are disappointed?”
“No, indeed. You have put me more at ease. I suppose you serve the princess?”
“Whenever I can,” demurely.