"Nay, poor Henry, say rather!" said I, as the footsteps drew away to the verge of the terrace, waxing fine and thin as they went farther from us.
"Hear me," said she. "I had better tell you now. Nicholas wishes me greatly to marry one high in power in our own country—one whose influence would permit him to go back to his home in Russia and live as a prince as before."
"But you will not—you cannot—" I began to say to her.
"Hush!" she said, laughing a little in my ear. "I certainly shall if you cry out like that"—for the footsteps were drawing nearer again. We leaned closer together against the parapet in the little niche where the creepers grew. And the dark grew more fragrant. She drew the great cloak about us both, round my head also. Her own was close to mine, and the touch of her hair thrilled me, quickening yet more the racing of my heart, and making me light-headed like unaccustomed wine.
"Countess!" I said, searching for words to thrill her heart as mine was thrilled already.
"Monsieur!" she replied, and drew away the cloak a little, making to leave me, but not as one that really intends to go.
"Lucia," I said hastily, "dear Lucy—"
"Ah!" she said, and drew the cloak about us again.
And what we said after that, is no matter to any.
But we forgot, marvel at it who will, to hearken to the footsteps that came and went. They were to us meaningless as the lapse of the waves on the shore, pattering an accompaniment above the soft sibilance of our whispered talk, making our converse sweeter.