Drexel, stirred by her voice, felt his heart pulsing in warm sympathy with the beat of the song. The applauding guests thought she was moved by mere artistic sentiment. He knew better, and when he had a moment alone with her after she had finished, he told her how truly splendid had been her singing. She caught the sympathy in his voice and flashed at him a quick, bright look. “We’ll have you yet!” she whispered.
Prince Berloff, coming up, reminded her that he had promised to show her some new etchings that he had shown the other guests in the afternoon while she had been lying down, and he led her off to the library.
Could Drexel have only followed her!
The countess bestowed herself in a corner of a great leather divan, leaning back in luxurious grace, her cheek in one finely modeled hand. The prince closed the door and drew up a chair in front of her. There was controlled eagerness in his pale face.
“Well?” he asked in his low voice.
Triumph gleamed through the fringe of her half-closed eyes, but her manner was languorously reposeful.
“Well, I think we have him!”
“A-a-h!” breathed the prince. “You have definitely involved him in some plan?”
“Not yet. I’m leading him gently toward one. But he’s ready. He said as much to-night.”
“Good! And what plan?”