“I have the honour to present my official report for your consideration, madame.”
“Your report? Give it to me. That for your report!” and she flung it with all her strength into a corner. “Count, what do you mean by treating me in this way? You will not even look at me!”
“Madame, it is because I fear that to look at you would force me to remember what it may be my duty to forget.”
“What should you forget? Not that we love one another?”
“Madame, I remember nothing that you may wish forgotten.”
“You don’t trust me yet?” She stamped her foot passionately. “It is cruel, it is unfair! What have I done that you should be so unjust to me? Stay!” she ran to a mirror, and pulling out the diamond-headed pins which fastened her head-dress, laid the veil and crown on the table, then with hasty fingers tore from the front of her bodice the ribbons and badges of the Orders she had been wearing, and returned to Cyril. “Now there is no Queen to whom you need be distant and ceremonious. It is your own Ernestine, who asks you how she has offended you.”
“My dearest!” began Cyril, raising her hands to his lips, but she was not satisfied.
“You were not content with that in the burning house,” she said.
“Ernestine!” He caught her in his arms and kissed her; “do you think it is fair to tempt me in this way? Flesh and blood can’t stand against it, you little witch.”
“I like that name,” she said, with a happy smile. “I am very glad I can tempt you, Cyril. It is like this morning. I made up my mind that you should look at me, and you were obliged to do it. I willed your eyes to meet mine.”