re coffee was served to us. The gentlemen and ladies in
attendance withdrew, and we were alone.

The little room had French windows opening on the gardens. The night was
fine, cool, and fragrant. Flavia sat down, and I stood opposite her. I
was struggling with myself: if she had not looked at me, I believe that
even then I should have won my fight. But suddenly, involuntarily, she
gave me one brief glance--a glance of question, hurriedly turned aside;
a blush that the question had ever come spread over her cheek, and she
caught her breath. Ah, if you had seen her! I forgot the King in Zenda.
I forgot the King in Strelsau. She was a princess--and I an impostor.
Do you think I remembered that? I threw myself on my knee and seized
her hands in mine. I said nothing. Why should I? The soft sounds of the
night set my wooing to a wordless melody, as I pressed my kisses on her
lips.

She pushed me from her, crying suddenly:

"Ah! is it true? or is it only because you must?"

"It's true!" I said, in low smothered tones--"true that I love you more
than life--or truth--or honour!"

She set no meaning to my words, treating them as one of love's sweet
extravagances. She came close to me, and whispered:

"Oh, if you were not the King! Then I could show you how I love you! How
is it that I love you now, Rudolf?"

"Now?"

"Yes--just lately. I--I never did before."

Pure triumph filled me. It was I--Rudolf Rassendyll--who had won her! I
caught her round the waist.

"You didn't love me before?" I asked.

She looked up into my face, smiling, as she whispered:

"It must have been your Crown. I felt it first on the Coronation Day."

"Never before?" I asked eagerly.

She laughed low.

"You speak as if you would be pleased to hear me say 'Yes' to that," she
said.

"Would 'Yes' be true?"

"Yes," I just heard her breathe, and she went on in an instant: "Be
careful, Rudolf; be careful, dear. He will be mad now."

"What, Michael? If Michael were the worst--"

"What worse is there?"

There was yet a chance for me. Controlling myself with a mighty effort,
I took my hands off her and stood a yard or two away. I remember now the
note of the wind in the elm trees outside.

"If I were not the King," I began, "if I were only a private
gentleman--"

Before I could finish, her hand was in mine.

"If you were a convict in the prison of Strelsau, you would be my King,"
she said.

And under my breath I groaned, "God forgive m