"Why do you ask me? You know that I would be Duchess of Naxos if my country regains its freedom under the Italian crown."
"Has that influenced you?"
Her candid, sweet gaze met mine: "I think it has."
And, as I said nothing, "I hadn't quite considered it in that light," she said. "I thought my motives were pure. Besides, I really am hereditary Duchess of Naxos—if ever there is to be such a Duchy again." She laughed a little. "A phantom ruler in a phantom realm. It must amuse you, Michael."
"It may all come to pass," said I.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Monsieur Venizelos does not wish it. Nor does the King of Italy. Also I am afraid that Naxos is really quite contented under the Greek flag, now that Constantino is exiled and because, moreover, that same flag flies beside the flags of England, France, and Italy.... No, Michael, there will be no revolution now in Naxos; no Duchy, no Duchess.... And," she rose and looked at me, and stretched out one fair hand, "come into France with me, Michael.... I can't leave my heart here with you unless I stay here, too.... I can't become disembodied and float off to France leaving heart and mind and body and soul here—in your arms—in the arms of the man I—love.... Can I, dear Michael?—Can I my dear lover?—my dearest—my beloved——"
Her fragrant, flushed face was close against mine when we heard Smith's trunk banging in his room and Raoul's voice: "Easy, mon vieux! Mon dieu, but it's heavy, your Norwegian-American luggage."
"Darling!" she exclaimed in consternation, "you're not packed up! Quick, Michael! I'll help you——"