Part 10 (1/2)

”Because the only woman I ever cared--to make my friend, took it from her finger and gave it to me.”

”Now the Emperor is pleased to pay compliments.”

”You don't think that, really? You know I am sincere.”

”But you had only seen me for an hour. Instead of meriting your friends.h.i.+p, I had, on the contrary----”

”For one hour? How long ago is that hour? A week or so, I suppose--as time counts. But then came yesterday, and the thing you did for me.

Now I have known you always.”

”If you had, perhaps you would not want me for your friend.”

”I do want you.”

The words would come. It was true--already true. He did want her. But not only as a friend. His world, a world without women or pa.s.sion ardent enough to eclipse principles, was upside down.

It was well that the ten minutes' grace between dances was over, the music for the next about to begin. A young officer, Count von Markstein's half-brother, who was to be Sylvia's partner, came toward her, then stepped back, seeing that she was with the Emperor. But Maximilian permitted his approach, with a gesture.

”Good-bye,” said Sylvia, while her words could still only be heard by the ears for which they were intended.

”Not good-bye--we are to be friends.”

”Yes, in heart. But--we shall not often meet.”

”Are you going from Salzbruck soon, then?”

”Perhaps.”

”I must see you. I will see you--_once more_, whatever comes!”

”Yes. Once more, but----”

”After that----”

”Who knows--Captain von Markstein--Yes, it is our dance.”

”Once more--once more!” The words lingered in Sylvia's ears. She heard them through everything, as one hears the undertone of a mountain torrent, though a bra.s.s band brays out some martial air to drown its music.

Once more he would see her. She could guess why it might be only once, even if he would fain have had it more. This game of hers, begun with such a light heart, was more difficult to play than she had dreamed.

If she could but be sure he _cared_; if he would tell her this, in words, the rest might be easy; though, even so, she did not quite see how the end should come. Yet how, in honour, _could_ he tell her that he cared? While, if he told her in any other way, how could she bear her life? ”Once more!” What would happen in that once more? Surely nothing but a repet.i.tion of grateful thanks and courteous words, equivalent to farewell.

To be sure, Miss de Courcy and her mother might go away, and the negotiations between the Emperor's advisers and the Grand d.u.c.h.ess of Eltzburg-Neuwald for her daughter's hand could be allowed to continue, as if no outside influence had ruffled the peaceful current of events.

Then, in the end, a surprise would come for Maximilian; wilful Princess Sylvia would have had her little romance, and all might be said to end well. But something within Sylvia's fast-beating heart refused to be satisfied with so comparatively tame a last chapter, a finis so obvious. She had tasted a sweet, stimulating draught--she who had been brought carefully up on milk and water--and she was loth to put the cup down, still half-full and sparkling.

”Once more!” If only that once could be magnified into many times; if she could have her chance--her ”fling,” like other girls!

So she was thinking in the carriage, by her mother's side, driving back to the Hohenburgerhof from the palace; and the Grand d.u.c.h.ess was forced to speak twice before her daughter became aware that silence had been broken.

”I forgot to tell you something, Sylvia.”