“Things shouldn’t be thought of,—­not so deeply as that.”  Madame Goesler was playing with a bunch of his grapes now, eating one or two from a small china plate which had stood upon the table, and he thought that he had never seen a woman so graceful and yet so natural.  “Will you not eat your own grapes with me?  They are delicious;—­flavoured with the poor queen’s sorrows.”  He shook his head, knowing that it did not suit his gastric juices to have to deal with fruit eaten at odd times.  “Never think, Duke.  I am convinced that it does no good.  It simply means doubting, and doubt always leads to error.  The safest way in the world is to do nothing.”

“I believe so,” said the Duke.

“Much the safest.  But if you have not sufficient command over yourself to enable you to sit in repose, always quiet, never committing yourself to the chance of any danger,—­then take a leap in the dark; or rather many leaps.  A stumbling horse regains his footing by persevering in his onward course.  As for moving cautiously, that I detest.”

“And yet one must think;—­for instance, whether one will succeed or not.”

“Take that for granted always.  Remember, I do not recommend motion at all.  Repose is my idea of life;—­repose and grapes.”

The Duke sat for a while silent, taking his repose as far as the outer man was concerned, looking at his top brick of the chimney, as from time to time she ate one of his grapes.  Probably she did not eat above half-a-dozen of them altogether, but he thought that the grapes must have been made for the woman, she was so pretty in the eating of them.  But it was necessary that he should speak at last.  “Have you been thinking of coming to Como?” he said.

“I told you that I never think.”

“But I want an answer to my proposition.”

“I thought I had answered your Grace on that question.”  Then she put down the grapes, and moved herself on her chair, so that she sat with her face turned away from him.

“But a request to a lady may be made twice.”

“Oh, yes.  And I am grateful, knowing how far it is from your intention to do me any harm.  And I am somewhat ashamed of my warmth on the other day.  But still there can be but one answer.  There are delights which a woman must deny herself, let them be ever so delightful.”

“I had thought,—­” the Duke began, and then he stopped himself.

“Your Grace was saying that you thought,—­”

“Marie, a man at my age does not like to be denied.”

“What man likes to be denied anything by a woman at any age?  A woman who denies anything is called cruel at once,—­even though it be her very soul.”  She had turned round upon him now, and was leaning forward towards him from her chair, so that he could touch her if he put out his hand.

He put out his hand and touched her.  “Marie,” he said, “will you deny me if I ask?”

“Nay, my lord; how shall I say?  There is many a trifle I would deny you.  There is many a great gift I would give you willingly.”