to me," she said. "And--and I'm very fond of you,
Augustin."

"It's very charming of you, for there's little enough reason."

"Victoria says several people have been." She hazarded this remark with
an obvious effort. I laughed at that. There was also a covert hint of
surprise in her glance. Either she did not believe Victoria fully, or
she was wondering how the thing had come about. Alas, she was so
transparent! I found myself caught by a momentary wish that I had chosen
(as if I could choose, though!) a woman of the world, whose accomplished
skill should baffle all my scrutiny and leave me still the consolations
of uncertainty; it is probable that such a one would have extorted from
me a belief in her love for five minutes every day. Not for an instant
could that delusion live with Elsa's openness. Yet perhaps she would
learn the trick, and I watch her mastery of it in the growth. But at
least she should not learn it on my requisition.

Elsa sat silent, but presently a slight meditative smile came on her
lips and made a little dimple in her chin. Her thoughts were pleasant
then; no more of that grim impossible duty. Had Wetter's wand conjured
any other idea into her mind? Had his picture another side for her
imagination? It seemed possible enough; it may well have seemed possible
to Princess Heinrich when she requested that Elsa should not read the
speech. Princess Heinrich may have preferred that such notions should
not be suggested at all under the circumstances of the case. There was
always a meaning in what Princess Heinrich did.

"What are you thinking of, Elsa?"

"Nothing," she answered with a little start. "Is he a young man?"

"You mean Wetter?"

"Yes."

"Oh, a few years over thirty. But he's made the most of his time in the
world. The most, not the best, I mean, you know."

Her thoughts had been on Wetter and Wetter's words. Since she had smiled
I concluded that my guess was not far off. Elsa turned to me with a
blush and the coquettish air that now and then sat so prettily on her
innocence.

"I should think he might have made love rather well," she said.

"I shouldn't wonder in the least," said I. "But he might be a little
tempestuous."

"Yes," Elsa acquiesced. "And that wouldn't be nice, would it?"

"Not at all nice," said I, and laughed. Elsa joined in my laugh, but
doubtfully and reluctantly, as though she had but a dim glimmer of the
reason for it. Then she turned to me with a sudden radia