Again she looked at him; there was gratitude and, he thought, something yet more to be desired in her eyes. “No, my friend,” she said, with gentle denial; “not now.”
“Alexia,” he pleaded, laying his hand on her arm, “let me tell you how I love you.”
But again she shook her head, and moved away from the tentative caress. “No,” she replied; “you must not speak a word of that to me.”
“Not yet?”
She hesitated a moment or two, and in the pause his hopes swiftly grew. Then, almost in a whisper, the words came repeated, “Not yet.”
As he realized what those words meant, joy thrilled him beyond all power of the restraint he owed her. “Alexia, my love!” The cry burst out from the rapture of his good fortune. But she turned quickly to him, putting out her hands protestingly.
“No, no, please; not that,” she said, and in the entreaty there was a touch of command. “I know that you, of all men, will respect my wish.”
“It is hard,” he returned submissively, “but I must. If you knew how hard, dear Countess, you would forgive me.”
“I have nothing to forgive,” she replied simply; and for a while no more was spoken between them.
Then their talk reverted to the burning subject of the trial, till presently Count Prosper came in.