courage. There was the dawning of triumph
in my heart, an assurance of victory, and the fierce delight in a
determination come to at great cost and to be held, it may be, at
greater still. In all these feelings, mighty always, there were for me
the freshness, the rush of youth, and the venturous joy of new
experience.

On her also a crisis of feeling had come; she was not her old self, nor
I to her what I had been. There was a strained, almost frightened look
in her eyes; a low-voiced "Augustin" replacing her bantering "Caesar."
Save for my name she did not speak as I led her to a couch and sat down
by her side. She looked slight, girlish, and pathetic in a simple gown
of black; timidity renewed her youth. Well might I forget that she was
not a maiden of meet age for me, and she herself for an instant cheat
time's reckoning. She made of me a man, of herself a girl, and prayed
love's advocacy to prove the delusion true.

"I have been with Wetter," said I. "He wants the Embassy."

I fancy that she knew his desire; her hand pressed mine, but she did not
speak.

"But he recommended Max," I went on.

"Max!" For a moment her face was full of terror as she turned to me;
then she broke into a smile. Wetter's advice was plain to her also.

"You see how much he wants it for himself," said I. "He knows I would
sooner send a gutter-boy than Max. And you know it?"

"Do I?" she murmured.

I rose and stood before her.

"It is yours to give, not mine," said I. "Do you give it to Wetter?"

As she looked up at me her eyes filled with tears, while her lips curved
in a timid smile.

"What--what trouble you'll get into!" she said.

"It's not a thousandth part of what I would do for you. Wetter shall
have it then--or Max?"

"Not Max," she said; her eyes told me why it should not be Max.

"Then Wetter," and I fell on one knee by her, whispering, "The King
gives it to his Queen."

"They'll blame you so; they'll say all sorts of things."

"I shan't hear them; I hear only you."

"They'll be unkind to you."

"They can't hurt me if you're kind to me."

"Perhaps they'll say I--I got it from you."

"I am not ashamed. What is it to me what they say?"

"You don't care?"

"For nothing in the world but you and to be with you."

She sat looking up at me for an instant; then she threw her arm over the
end of the sofa and laid her face on the cushion; I heard her sob
softly. Her other hand lay in her lap; I took it and raised