a glance to the right or the left.

CHAPTER VII

COMFORT! COMFORT SCORNED OF DEVILS

"Adrienne, I am the happiest man in the world."

"For how long, sir?"

"_Pour la vie_," he answered solemnly.

Her hand stole softly into his, and there was a long silence between
them. What need had they of words? It is only the lighter form of love,
fancy touched by sentiment, which seeks for expressions by such means.
Their love was different; a silent consciousness of each other's
presence sufficed for them. And so they sat there, side by side, steeped
in the deep, subtle joy of that perfect love which upon the nature of
both the man and the woman had so chastening and spiritualizing an
influence. There was a new music in their lives, a sweeter harmony than
either of them had ever been conscious of before. The world had grown
more beautiful--and it was for them. The love which widens and deepens
also narrows. Humanity was a forgotten factor in their thoughts. All
that they saw and dreamed of was theirs to taste, to admire and to enjoy
together. It was for them that the silvery moon and the softly burning
stars cast upon the sleeping earth a strange new beauty. It was for them
the air hung heavy with the faint perfume of spices, and the mingled
scents of heliotrope and violets. It was for them that the dark pine
trees waved softly backward and forward against the violet sky; for them
that the far-away sea made melancholy music against the pebbly beach,
and the soft night wind rustled among the tree tops in the orange
groves. All nature was fair for their sakes. It is the grand selfishness
of love--a noble vice.

"Adrienne!"

They both started and looked round. The voice was harsh and agitated,
and it broke in like a jarring note upon their sweet, absorbed
silence. It was Leonardo di Marioni who stood before them on the
balcony--Leonardo, with white face and darkly-gleaming eyes. To Lord St.
Maurice, that stifled cry had sounded like the hiss of the snake in
paradise, and when he looked up the simile seemed completed.

"Is it you, Leonardo?" Adrienne said, letting go her lover's hand, and
leaning back in her chair. "Your entrance is a little unceremonious, is
it not? Were there no servants to announce you, or to bring me word of
your presence? I dislike surprises."

"And I, too, Adrienne--I, too, dislike surprises," he answered, his
voice quivering with passion. "I find one awaiting me here."

She rose and stood