When the Princess and I entered the Royal Box that night the applause was instant and enthusiastic.  I kept a bit in the rear; the greeting was for her.  And she smiled that conquering smile of hers that went straight to every individual in the audience as a personal acknowledgment.  I had seen it frequently in the past month; yet, every time, to marvel only the more.  Small wonder, indeed, that she was the toast of the Nation and the pride of the King.  A million pities the Salic Law barred her from the succession.  What a Queen Regnant she would make!  Aye, what a Queen Consort she would be!  What a wife!

Then the last high note of the National Air blared out and the Princess, turning quickly, caught my look and straightway read my thoughts.  A sudden flush swept over her face and neck and she dropped her eyes.  Silently I placed a chair for her; as she took it, her bare arm rested against my hand.  The effect on me, in the stress of my feelings at that moment, is indescribable.  I know I gasped—­and my throat got hot and my heart pounded in sharp pain.

But I did not withdraw my hand—­nor did the Princess remove her arm.  Its soft, warm flesh pressed against my fingers—­the perfume of her hair enveloped my face—­the beat of her bosom was just below me.

A fierce impulse seized me to take her in my arms—­there, before them all, the Court and the Capital.  Reason told me to step back.  Yet I could not.  Instead, I gripped the chair fiercely, and, by that very act, pushed my fingers only more closely against her.

Was I dreaming—­or did I feel an answering pressure, not once but twice repeated.  I was sure of it.  I bent forward.  Quickly she looked up at me with eyes half closed.

“How cold your hand is, Armand,” she said.

“Does it chill you, dear?” I whispered.

She smiled.  “It never could do that,” she answered.  “But won’t you sit beside me, now?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said reluctantly.  “Only, I’m nearer you as I am.”

Then I took my chair, drawing it a trifle in the rear, so, being obliged to lean forward, I would be closer to her and could speak softly in her ear.

“You’re very bold, Armand; you are always doing things so publicly,” she said.

“It was an accident—­at first.”

“And afterward, sir?”

“Afterward, I was powerless.”

“My arm would not believe you.”

“Powerless to remove my hand, I mean.”

“Powerlessness, with you, has queer manifestations,” she said.

“Yes—­sometimes it’s passive and sometimes active.”

“It was active, I suppose, that day in the King’s cabinet, when you gave me that cousinly kiss.”

“If we were not so public I would——­”

She looked at me with the most daring invitation.  “It is because we are so public that you are permitted to sit so near.”

“Then, why blame me if I take the only opportunities you give me?” I asked.