"We go to Paris," replied she, turning away her head.
"To Paris, dearest? Why, you have forgotten that the emperor leaves for
Paris to-morrow, and that we incur the risk of recognition there."
"Not at all—Paris is a large city, and if we are discovered, I shall seek protection from the emperor. He knows of my unhappy marriage, and sympathizes with my sorrows."
"Perhaps you are right, dearest. Then in Paris we spend our honey-moon, and there enjoy the bliss of requited love."
"There, and not until we reach there," said she, gravely. "I require a last proof of your devotion, count. I exact that until we arrive in Paris you shall not speak to me of love. You shall consider me as a sister, and allow me the privilege of travelling in the carriage with my maid—she and I on one seat, you opposite."
"Margaret, that is abominable tyranny. You expect me to be near you, and not to speak of love! I must be watched by your maid, and sit opposite to you!—You surely cannot mean what you say."
"I do, indeed, Count Schulenberg."
"But think of all that I have endured for a year that I have adored you, cold beauty! Not one single proof of love have you ever given me yet. You have tolerated mine, but have never returned it."
"Did I not write to you?"
"Write; yes. You wrote me to say that you would not consent to be mine unless I carried you away from Vienna. Then you went on to order our mode of travelling as you would have done had I been your husband. 'Be here at such an hour; have your passes for various countries. Describe me therein as your sister. Come through the garden and await me at the head of the secret stairway.' Is this a love-letter? It is a mere note of instructions. For one week I have waited for a look, a sigh, a pressure of the hand; and when I come hither to take you from your home forever, you receive me as if I were a courier. No, Margaret, no—I will not wait to speak my love until we are in Paris."