'Yes, because I speak of Valerie!'
'No, it is because you speak!' he declared amorously. 'Tell me of Mademoiselle Valerie if you will,' this as a concession, 'though you could tell me something more interesting.'
'Not more interesting to you than this,' she exclaimed, nodding her golden head at him with her little air of foolish wisdom. 'It is lucky that Captain Rallywood is—is about to furnish an object-lesson, for——' she raised her slender finger and laid it on her lips, smiling at him.
He looked round. They were alone in a smaller drawing-room; it was not possible for the guests in the other saloon to see them. He drew the finger from her lips and pressed it to his own. He would woo the truth from this beautiful fool. His words meant one thing, his looks another.
'And Valerie?' he questioned, seeming to count her fingers on his palm.
'Valerie loves him—she told me so,' whispered Isolde, since there was no longer need to speak louder.
'And you, my dear lady?' And it may be the speech was the more impassioned because in his heart he was damning the picturesqueness of the captain of the Guard.
And Rallywood? Rallywood sat in his quarters thinking thoughts that, like music, lead sometimes on to exaltation. His earthly life was done, and he looked out into the dim beyond fearlessly. His eyes were set and sad, for he should see her face and hear Valerie's voice no more, but he would be waiting in that somewhere for her. A man in the supremer hours often turns again to the faiths of his childhood; so now Rallywood, at the summit of his life, found himself given back all those lost dreams.
He did not know how she came there. He heard no footstep enter. And when he knew, neither spoke.