"Did I not love my Brunehild ere we met?"
"Yes, and I—knew of you. Only I didn't recognize you at first, because they told me you were a frightful demagogue and—a—a—Jew!"
He laughed. "And so you expected a gaberdine. And yet surely Bulwer Lytton gave you a presentation copy of Leila. Don't you remember the Jew in it? As a boy I had his ideal—to redeem my people. But if my Judaism offends you, I can become a Christian—not in belief of course, but—"
"Oh, not for worlds. I believe too little myself to bother about religion. My friends call me the Greek, because I can readily believe in many gods, but only with difficulty in one."
He laughed. "Is it the same in love?"
Her eyes gleamed archly.
"Yes. Hitherto, at least, a single man has never sufficed. With only one I had time to see all his faults, and since my first love, a Russian officer, I would always have preferred to keep three knives dancing in the air. But as that was impossible, I generally halved my loaf."
The mountains rang with his laughter.
"Well. I haven't lived a saint, and I can't expect my wife to bring more than I."
"You bring too much. You bring that Countess."