“No, no. Do not mention that man’s name, I beg of you?”
This caused Hubert considerable surprise. Was it actually possible that they had quarrelled? He recollected that Pujalet had told him that he had come to Rome to meet her.
“I regret, Lola, if I have annoyed you,” he said quickly in deep apology, “but the fact remains that I love only you—you, my love!”
“You have forgotten your Spanish dancer—eh?” she asked in a strange tone of reproach.
“I took your advice,” was his simple reply; “and in doing so I gradually grew to love you, Princess, yet knowing that my affection could only bring me, a lonely man, grief, pain and despair.”
She was silent. Her little, white-gloved hand was again in his, and he had raised it reverently to his lips.
Ah! that was to him a moment of extreme ecstasy, for her hand lay inert and he saw that though her head was turned to conceal her emotion, her chest heaved and fell convulsively. She was sobbing.
He placed his arm tenderly about her small waist, and slowly she turned her tear-stained face to his. Their gaze met, but no second glance was needed to show that the passionate affection was reciprocated, though it remained unspoken, unacknowledged.
For some moments he held her in his strong, manly embrace, and though no word passed between them their two hearts beat in unison.
Alas! it was but a false paradise. Yet are not our lives made up of such? And we, all of us, are prepared to sacrifice years of weariness and of grief for five brief minutes of sweet illusion.