He seemed to have set himself the task of pleasing her to-night—­of making her forget, mayhap, the wooing of the several suitors who had hung round her to-day.  He talked to her—­always in that mysterious, muffled voice, with the quaint rolling of the r’s and the foreign intonation of the vowels—­he talked to her of King Louis and his tyranny over the people of France:  of his own political aims to which he had already sacrificed fortune, position, home.  Of his own brilliant past at the most luxurious court the world had ever known.  He fired her enthusiasm, delighted her imagination, enchained her soul to his:  she was literally swept off the prosy face of this earth and whirled into a realm of romance, enchanting, intoxicating, mystic—­almost divine.

She forgot fleeting time, and did not even hear the church bell over at Acol village striking the hour of ten.

He had to bring her back to earth, and to guide her reluctant footsteps again towards the house.  But she was too happy to part from him so easily.  She forced him to escort her over the little bridge, under the pretense of terror at the lateness of the hour.  She vowed that he could not be perceived from the house, since all the lights were out, and everyone indeed must be abed.  Her guardian’s windows, moreover, gave on the other side of the house; and he of a surety would not be moon or star gazing at this hour of the night.

Her mood was somewhat reckless.  The talk with which he had filled her ears had gone to her brain like wine.  She felt intoxicated with the atmosphere of mystery, of selfless patriotism, of great and fallen fortunes, with which he knew so well how to surround himself.  Mayhap, that in her innermost heart now there was a scarce conscious desire to precipitate a crisis, to challenge discovery, to step boldly before her guardian, avowing her love, demanding the right to satisfy it.

She refused to bid him adieu save at the garden door.  Three steps led up straight into the dining-room from the flagged pathway which skirted the house.  She ran up these steps, silently and swiftly as a little mouse, and then turned her proud and happy face to him.

“Good-night, sweet prince,” she whispered, extending her delicate hand to him.

She stood in the full light of the moon dominating him from the top of the steps, an exquisite vision of youth and beauty and romance.

He took off his broad-brimmed hat, but his face was still in shadow, for the heavy perruque fell in thick dark curls covering both his cheeks.  He bent very low and kissed the tips of her fingers.

“When shall we meet again, my prince?” she asked.

“This day week, an it please you, my queen,” he murmured.

And then he turned to go.  She meant to stand there and watch him cross the tangled lawn, and the little bridge, and to see him lose himself amidst the great shadows of the park.

But he had scarce gone a couple of steps when a voice, issuing from the doorway close behind her, caused her to turn in quick alarm.