He could not keep his eyes from hers. “They say that she is a very lonely princess.”
“So lonely.” And the coquetry faded from her eyes as her glance wandered waterward and became fixed on some object invisible and far away. “Poor lonely princess!”
Maurice was growing colder and colder, but he did not mind. He had wished for some woman to talk to; his wish had been granted. “I feel sorry for her, if what they say is true,” having no other words.
“And what do they say, Monsieur?”
“That she and her father have been socially ostracized. I should be proud to be her friend.” Once the words were gone from him, he saw their silliness. “A presumptuous statement,” he added; “I am an obscure foreigner.”
“Friendship, Monsieur, is a thing we all should prize, all the more so when it is disinterested.”
He said rapidly, for fear she might hear his teeth chatter: “They say she is very beautiful. Tell me what she is like.”
“I am no judge of what men call beauty. As to her character, I believe I may recommend that. She is good.”
He was sure that merriment twitched the corners of her lips, and he grew thoughtful. “Alexia. Is that not her Highness's name also?”
“Yes, Monsieur; we have the same names.” Her eyes fell, and she began to finger the pages of the book.