“Can you, fair maid, tell me the names of those beautiful stars I see in the dark dome above?” he asked, in a loud, happy voice.  “Oh, can they be eyes?”

“Eyes, most noble sir,” replied his companion.  “There are no stars so bright.”

“Methought they were diamonds in the sky at first.  Eyes like those must belong to some divinity.”

“They do, fair student, and to a divinity well worth worshiping.  I have heard it said that men offer themselves as sacrifices upon her altars.”

“Unless my telescope deceives me, I discern a very handsome sacrifice up there, so I suppose the altar must be somewhere in the neighborhood.”

“Not a hand’s breadth beneath her eyes,” laughed the Countess, as she fled precipitately up the steps, followed by the jesting student.

“Beware of a divinity in wrath,” came a sweet, clear voice from the balcony, and Anguish called out from his safe retreat, like the boy he was: 

“Ah, who’s afraid!”

The Princess was laughing softly, her eyes radiant as they met those of her companion, amused yet grave.

“Does he have a care?” she asked.

“I fear not.  He loves a Countess.”

“He has not to pay the price of ambition, then?” said she, softly.

“Ambition is the cheapest article in the world,” he said.  “It concerns only a man’s self.”

XXVIII

THE MAID OF GRAUSTARK

Expectancy, concern, the dread of uncertainty marked the countenances of Graustark’s ministers and her chief men as they sat in the council chamber on the day following, awaiting the appearance of their Princess, at whose call they were unexpectedly assembled.  More than two score eyes glanced nervously toward the door from time to time.

All realized an emergency.  No sooner were they out of one dilemma than another cast its prospects across their path, creating the fear that rejoicing would be short.  While none knew the nature of the business that called them together, each had a stubborn suspicion that it related to the stirring declarations of the day before.  Not one in that assembly but had heard the vivid, soulful sentence from the throne.  Not one but wished in secret as Gaspon and Halfont had wished in open speech.

When the Princess entered with the prime minister they narrowly scanned the face so dear to them.  Determination and cowardice were blended in the deep blue eyes, pride and dejection in the firm step, strength and weakness in the loving smile she bestowed upon the faithful counsellors.  After the greetings she requested them to draw chairs about the great table.  Seating herself in her accustomed seat, she gazed over the circle of anxious faces and realized, more than at any time in her young life, that she was frail and weak beyond all comparison.  How small she was to rule over those strong, wise men of hers; how feeble the hand that held the sceptre.