After a moment of waiting he said, “Listen to the music, Opal!  Only listen!  Doesn’t it remind you of dreams and visions—­of fairyland, of happiness, and—­love?”

But she could not answer.

At last she said slowly, “Oh, it’s too late, Paul—­too late!”

“Too late?” he echoed.  “It’s never too late to take the good the gods send!  Never, while love lasts!”

“But the Count, Paul—­and your fiancee!  Think, Paul, think!”

“I can’t think!  What does the Count matter, Opal!  Nothing—­nothing makes any difference when you are face to face with destiny and your soul-mate calls!  It has to be—­it has to be!—­can’t you—­won’t you—­see it?”

“God help all poor souls lost in the dark!” She did see it.  It stared her relentlessly in the face and tugged mercilessly at her heart with fingers of red-hot steel!  She covered her face with her hands, but she could not shut out the terrible image of advancing Death that held for her all the charm of a serpent’s eye.  She struggled, as virgin woman has always struggled.  But in her heart she knew that she would yield.  What was her weak woman’s nature after all, when pitted against the strength of the man she loved!

“Oh, I was feeling so pure—­so good—­so true—­to-night!  Are there not thousands of beautiful women in the world who might be yours for the asking?  Could you not let the poor Count have his wife and his honeymoon in peace?”

Honeymoon!  She shuddered at the thought.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “by every God-made law of Nature you are mine—­mine—­mine!  What care we for the foolish, man-made conventions of this or any other land?  There is only one law in the universe—­the divine right of the individual to choose for himself his mate!”

Then his whisper became softer—­more enticing—­more resistless in its passionate appeal.

He was pleading with his whole soul—­this prince who with one word could command the unquestioning obedience of a kingdom!  But the woman in his arms did not know that, and it would have made no difference if she had!  In that supreme moment it was only man and woman.

Opal gazed in amazement at this revelation of a new Paul.  How splendid he was!  What a king among all the men she knew!  What a god in his manhood’s glory!—­a god to make the hearts of better and wiser women than she ache—­and break—­with longing!  Her hand stole to her heart to still the fury of its beating.

“Opal,” he breathed, “I have wanted you ever since that mad moment in gray old London when I first caught the lure in your glorious eyes—­do you remember, sweetheart?  I know you are mine—­and you know it—­girl!

His voice sank lower and lower, growing more and more intense with suppressed passion.  Opal was held spell-bound by the subtle charm of his languorous eyes.  She wanted to cry out, but she could not speak—­she could not think—­the spell of his fascination overpowered her.