“Shall I tell you why you are afraid of me?” he asked.

“You will say it is because I am forgetting to be a Princess.”

“No; it is because you no longer look upon me as you did in other days.  It is because I am a possibility, an entity instead of a shadow.  Yesterday you were the Princess and looked down upon the impossible suitor; to-day you find that you have given yourself to him and that you do not regard the barrier as insurmountable.  You were not timid until you found your power to resist gone.  Today you admit that I may hope, and in doing so you open a gate through the walls of your pride and prejudice that can never be closed against the love within and the love without.  You are afraid of me because I am no longer a dream, but a reality.  Am I not right, Yetive?”

She looked out over the hazy, moonlit park.

“Yesterday I might have disputed all you say; to-day I can deny nothing.”

Leaning upon the railing, they fell into a silent study of the parade ground and its strollers.  Their thoughts were not of the walkers and chatterers, nor of the music, nor of the night.  They were of the day to come.

“I shall never forget how you said ‘because I love him,’ this morning, sweetheart,” said Lorry, betraying his reflections.  “You defied the whole world in those four words.  They were worth dying for.”

“How could I help it?  You must not forget that you had just leaped into the lion’s den defenseless, because you loved me.  Could I deny you then?  Until that moment I had been the Princess adamant; in a second’s time you swept away every safeguard, every battlement, and I surrendered as only a woman can.  But it really sounded shocking, didn’t it?  So theatrical.”

“Don’t look so distressed about it, dear.  You couldn’t help it, remember,” he said, approvingly.

“Ach, I dread to-morrow’s ordeal!” she said, and he felt the arm that touched his own tremble.  “What will they say?  What will they, do?”

“To-morrow will tell.  It means a great deal to both of us.  If they will not submit—­what then?”

“What then—­what then?” she murmured, faintly.

Across the parade, coming from the direction of the fountain, Harry Anguish and Dagmar were slowly walking.  They were very close together, and his head was bent until it almost touched hers.  As they drew nearer, the dreamy watchers on the balcony recognized them.

“They are very happy,” said Lorry, knowing that she was also watching the strollers.

“They are so sure of each other,” she replied, sadly.

When almost directly beneath the rail, the Countess glanced upward, impelled by the strange instinct of an easily startled love, confident that prying eyes were upon her.  She saw the dark forms leaning over the rail and rather jerkily brought her companion to a standstill and to a realization of his position.  Anguish turned his eyes aloft.