He was very agitated. His close proximity to this beautiful young woman, the product of centuries of high breeding, the delight of her presence, the perfume that stole to him from her abundant hair, the hundred and one subtle allurements that a daughter of the classes possessed for a son of the people, intoxicated him. She was indeed the woman of his dreams, a star set so high in the firmament that he could only gaze respectfully at its light.
She brought him to earth with the simple question: “You must be very tired after your fatigues of the day and night; it is some time past twelve now. How do you propose to return to your hotel? I suppose you have your carriage waiting to take you back?”
She had put the question in her subtle, woman’s way. She knew it was a fad of Corsini’s that he would never ride or drive where he could walk. When he was rallied upon it by his few intimate friends, he always gave the same explanation that he proffered now.
“It is an eccentricity of mine, Princess, that I always walk wherever I can. Shall I tell you why?”
Nada looked at him kindly. “Yes, tell me why. I cannot tell you whether it is an eccentricity until I know the reason. Personally, I am a very lazy person, and never walk when I can ride.”
Corsini leaned towards her. He could inhale the fragrance of her hair, the stronger perfume that came from the roses she wore in her corsage.
“Princess, may I reveal to you some of my inmost cherished aspirations?” His eyes were glowing, he spoke with unusual vehemence.
“I should be honoured to receive your confidences,” replied the Princess softly.
“Ah, then, since you are so indulgent, I will tell you. My career up to a few months ago was an obscure one. Music is in my blood, as it is in yours. Am I not right?”