honor, did not love intrusions, and inasmuch as a discreet Court had learned, long ago, to regard the summer-house as consecrate to his Highness and the Baroness von Altenburg,—for these reasons the Grand Duke was inclined to resent disturbance of his privacy when he first peered out into the gardens.
His countenance was less severe when he turned again toward the Baroness, and it smacked more of bewilderment.
'It is only my wife,' he said.
'And the Comte de Chateauroux,' said the Baroness.
There is no denying that their voices were somewhat lowered. The chill and frail beauty of the Grand Duchess was plainly visible from where they sat; to every sense a woman of snow, his Highness mentally decided, for her gown this evening was white and the black hair powdered; all white she was, a cloud-tatter in the moonlight: yet with the Comte de Chateauroux as a foil, his uniform of the Cuirassiers a big stir of glitter and color, she made an undeniably handsome picture; and it was, quite possibly, the Grand Duke's aesthetic taste which held him for the moment motionless.
'After all—' he began, and rose.
'I am afraid that her Highness—' the Baroness likewise commenced.
'She would be sure to,' said the Grand Duke, and thereupon he sat down.
'I do not, however,' said the Baroness, 'approve of eavesdropping.'
'Oh, if you put it that way—' agreed the Grand Duke, and he was rising once more, when the voice of de Chateauroux stopped him.
'No, not at any cost!' de Chateauroux; was saying; 'I cannot and I will not give you up, Victoria!'
'—though I have heard,' said his Highness, 'that the moonlight is bad for the eyes.' Saying this, he seated himself composedly in the darkest corner of the summer-house.
'This is madness!' the Grand Duchess said—'sheer madness.'
'Madness, if you will,' de Chateauroux persisted, 'yet it is a madness too powerful and sweet to be withstood. Listen, Victoria,'—and he waved his hand toward the palace, whence music, softened by the distance, came from the lighted windows,—'do you not remember? They used to play that air at Staarberg.'
The Grand Duchess had averted her gaze from him. She did not speak.
He continued: 'Those were contented days, were they not, when we were boy and girl together? I have danced to that old-world tune so many times—with you! And to-night, madame, it recalls a host of unforgettable things, for it brings back to memory the scent of that girl's hair, the soft cheek that sometimes brushed mine, the white shoulders which I so often had hungered to kiss, before I dared—'
'Hein?' muttered the Grand Duke.
'We are no longer boy and girl,' the Grand Duchess said. 'All that lies behind us. It was a dream—a foolish dream which we must forget.'
'Can you in truth forget?' de Chateauroux demanded,—'can you forget it all, Victoria?—forget that night a Gnestadt, when you confessed you loved me? forget that day at Staarberg, when we were lost in the palace gardens?'
'Mon Dieu, what a queer method!' murmured the Grand Duke. 'The man makes love by the almanac.'
'Nay, dearest woman in the world,' de Chateauroux went on, 'you loved me once, and that you cannot have quite forgotten. We were happy then—very incredibly happy,—and now—'
'Life,' said the Grand Duchess, 'cannot always be happy.'
'Ah, no, my dear! nor is it to be elated by truisms. But what a life is this of mine,—a life of dreary days, filled with sick, vivid dreams of our youth that is hardly past as yet! And so many dreams, dear woman of my heart! in which the least remembered trifle brings back, as if in a flash, some corner of the old castle and you as I saw you there,—laughing, or insolent, or, it may be, tender. Ah, but you were not often tender! Just for a moment I see you, and my blood leaps up in homage to my dear lady. Then instantly that second of actual vision is over, I am going prosaically about the day's business, but I hunger more than ever—'
'This,' said the Grand Duke, 'is insanity.'
'Yet I love better the dreams of the night,' de Chateauroux went on; 'for they are not made all of memories, sweetheart. Rather, they are romances which my love weaves out of multitudinous memories,—fantastic stories of just you and me that always end, if I be left to dream them out in comfort, very happily. For there is in these dreams a woman who loves me, whose heart and body and soul are mine, and mine alone. Ohe, it is a wonderful vision while it lasts, though it be only in dreams that I am master of my heart's desire, and though the waking be bitter…! Need it be just a dream, Victoria?'
'Not but that he does it rather well, you know,' whispered the Grand Duke to the Baroness von Altenburg, 'although the style is florid. Yet that last speech was quite in my earlier and more rococo manner.'
The Grand Duchess did not stir as de Chateauroux bent over her jewelled hand.
'Come! come now!' he said. 'Let us not lose our only chance of happiness. 'Come forth, O Galatea, and forget as thou comest, even as I already have forgot, the homeward way! Nay, choose with me to go a-shepherding —!''
'Oh, but to think of dragging in Theocritus!' observed his Highness. 'Can this be what they call seduction nowadays!'
'I cannot,' the Grand Duchess whispered, and her voice trembled. 'You know that I cannot, dear.'
'You will go!' said de Chateauroux.
'My husband—'
'A man who leaves you for each new caprice, who flaunts his mistresses in the face of Europe.'
'My children—'
'Eh, mon Dieu! are they or aught else to stand in my way, now that I know you love me!'
'—it would be criminal—'
'Ah, yes, but then you love me!'
'—you act a dishonorable part, de Chateauroux,—'
'That does not matter. You love me!'
'I will never see you again,' said the Grand Duchess, firmly. 'Go! I loathe you, I loathe you, monsieur, even more than I loathe myself for having stooped to listen to you.'
'You love me!' said de Chateauroux, and took her in his arms.
Then the Grand Duchess rested her head upon the shoulder of de Chateauroux, and breathed, 'God help me!—yes!'
'Really,' said the Grand Duke, 'I would never have thought it of Victoria. It seems incredible for any woman of taste to be thus lured astray by citations of the almanac and secondary Greek poets.'
'You will come, then?' the Count said.
And the Grand Duchess answered, quietly, 'It shall be as you will.'
More lately, while the Grand Duke and the Baroness craned their necks, and de Chateauroux bent, very slowly, over her upturned lips, the Grand Duchess struggled from him, saying, 'Hark, Philippe! for I heard some one—something stirring—'
'It was the wind, dear heart.'
'Hasten!—I am afraid!—Oh, it is madness to wait here!'
'At dawn, then,—in the gardens?'
'Yes,—ah, yes, yes! But come, mon ami.' And they disappeared in the direction of the palace.
III
The Grand Duke looked dispassionately on their retreating figures; inquiringly on the Baroness; reprovingly on the moon, as though he rather suspected it of having treated him with injustice.
'Ma foi,' said his Highness, at length, 'I have never known such a passion for sunrises. Shortly we shall have them announced as 'Patronized by the Nobility.''
The Baroness said only, with an ellipsis, 'Her own cousin, too!' [Footnote: By courtesy rather than legally;
