"Yes, if you will excuse me; grandmother will see you out."
He bowed low and kissed her hand. As she opened the door, she turned round and smiled. Then she disappeared. The prince listened to the sound of her footsteps diminishing in the distance and stood stock-still, his face white with emotion.
"Well," said the old lady, "so you did not speak?"
"No. . . ."
"That secret . . ."
"Later. . . . To-day . . . oddly enough . . . I was not able to."
"Was it so difficult? Did not she herself feel that you were the stranger who took her away twice. . . . A word would have been enough. . . ."
"Later, later," he repeated, recovering all his assurance. "You can understand . . . the child hardly knows me. . . . I must first gain the right to her affection, to her love. . . . When I have given her the life which she deserves, a wonderful life, such as one reads of in fairy-tales, then I will speak."
The old lady tossed her head:
"I fear that you are making a great mistake. Geneviève does not want a wonderful life. She has simple tastes."