t to her.

"It was Robespierre's. Foerster the historian gave it me. That
_repousse_ gold-work on the handle is of course the Bastille."

"How appropriate!" she laughed.

"Which? The Bastille to the stick, or the stick to me?"

"Both."

He grew serious.

"What would you do if I lost my head?"

"I should stand by till your head was severed in order that you might
look on your beloved to the last. Then I should take poison."

"My Cleopatra!"

Her fitful face changed.

"Or marry Janko!"

"That weakling--is he still hovering?"

"He passed the winter with us. He looks upon me as his," she said
dolefully.

"I flick him away. Do not try to belong to another. I tell you
solemnly I claim you as mine. We cannot resist destiny. Our meeting
to-day proves it. To-morrow we climb to see the sunrise together,--the
sunrise over the mountains. Symbol of our future that begins. The
heavens opening in purple and gold over the white summits--love
breaking upon your virginal purity."

Already she felt, as of yore, swept off on roaring seas. But the rush
and the ecstasy had their alloy of terror. To be with him was to be no
longer herself, but a hypnotized stranger. Perhaps she was unwise to
have provoked this meeting. She should have remembered he was not to
be coquetted with. As well put a match to a gunpowder barrel to warm
your fingers. Every other man could be played with. This one swallowed
you up.

"But Prince Janko has no one but me," she tried to protest. "My little
Moorish page, my young Othello!"

"Keep him a page. Othellos are best left bachelors. Remember the fate
of Desdemona."

"I'll give you both up," she half whimpered. "I'll go on the stage."

"You!"

"Yes. Everybody says I'm splendid at burlesque. You should see me as a
boy."

"You baby! You need no triumphs in the mimic world. Your role is
grander."

"Oh, please let us wait for Mrs. Arson. You go too fast."

"I don't. I have waited a year for you. When shall we marry?"

"Not before our wedding-day."

"Evasive Helene!"

"Cruel Ferdinand! Ask anything of me, but not will-power."

A little cough came to accentuate her weakness.

"My darling!" he cried in deep emotion. "We'll fly to Egypt or the
Indies. I'll hang up politics and all that frippery. My books and
science shall claim me again, and I will watch over my ailing little
girl till she becomes the old splendid Brunehild again!"

"No, no, I am no Brunehild; only a modern woman with