“But even the wise get foolish at times,” I said—­and smiled at her.  And she made a face at me behind her fan.

Then the Princess arose and, taking Lord Radnor’s arm, she led the way down the garden.  I came last with Lady Radnor.  When we reached the exit Dehra insisted upon waiting until the Radnors and Courtney had gone.  She was, she said, helping me do the honors.  Then, when her own carriage was at the door, she turned to the Countess Giska.

“His Highness will drive with me,” she said.  “Major Moore, will you escort the Countess?”

“But, Dehra——­” I protested.

She was in the brougham, now.

“You will not permit me to drive alone to the Palace,” she said.

“But, Dehra——­” I began again.

She reached over and took my hand.

Still I hesitated.

“Come, sweetheart,” she said softly.

I could resist no longer.  I sprang in; the door slammed, and we were alone together.

No, not alone, either.  The Spencer woman was there with us—­before us—­all around us.  “I am Armand Dalberg’s wife” was pounding in my brain.

Then I felt a soft little hand slip into mine; a perfumed hair tress touched my cheek; and the sweetest voice, to me, on earth whispered in my ear.

“Don’t I get my kiss now?”

I flung my arm about her and caught her close—­then loosed her sharply and drew back.

“God help me, Dehra, I may not,” I said.

She laughed softly, and again she found my hand—­and I felt her hair brush my face—­and her body rest against my shoulder.

“Why, Armand?” she asked.  “Why may you not kiss your betrothed?”

“Because,” said I, “because——­”

“Yes, dear, go on,” she whispered.

I drew my hand away from hers.  “Did you not hear that woman claim me as her husband?” I said.

But she only pressed the closer.  I was in the very corner of the carriage now; I could retreat no farther.  And, maybe, I was glad.  I think I was.

“But that’s no reason,” she insisted.  “You are not her husband.”

“You believe that, dear?” I cried.

She put her arms about my neck and kissed me, almost fiercely, on the lips—­then, suddenly, drew back and, with both hands pressed against my breast, she viewed me at arm’s length.

“Believe it?” she said; “believe it?  I never believed anything else.”

I took her hands and reverently touched them to my forehead—­then, held them tight.

“After all these years, God would not send you to me just to mock my prayers,” she added.

“But the certificate!” I objected.

“A lie or a forgery,” she said scornfully.

I drew her head upon my shoulder.  “Sweetheart,” I whispered; “may I kiss you, now?”

She lifted her dear face and looked up into mine with glistening eyes, her lips half parted.  My own eyes, too, were wet, I think.