The chief of the mimes watched her keenly.
"You look at Paris," he said after a time. "There you may be great if you will."
"Great? I?"
She echoed the word with weary incredulity. She knew he could but mock at her.
"Ay," he made answer seriously. "Even you! Why not? There is no dynasty that endures in that golden city save only one—the sovereignty of a woman's beauty."
She started and shuddered a little; she thought that she saw the Red Mouse stir amidst the grasses.
"I want no greatness," she said, slowly. "What should I do with it?"
For in her heart she thought,—
"What would it serve me to be known to all the world and remembered by all the ages of men if he forget—forget quite?"