With an exclamation of delight, he resumed his position beside her.  His hand trembled as he took up hers to carry it to his lips.  “We are children—­playing with fire,” he murmured, this ingrate, this fool!

She allowed her hand to lie limply in his, her head sinking to the back of the chair.  When her hand was near his feverish lips, cool and white and trusting, he checked the upward progress.  Slowly he raised his eyes to study her face, finding that hers were closed, the semblance of a smile touching her lips as if they were in a happy dream.

The lips!  The lips!  The lips!  The madness of love rushed into his heart; the expectant hand was forgotten; his every hope and every desire measured themselves against his discretion as he looked upon the tempting face.  Could he kiss those lips but once his life would be complete.

With a start she opened her eyes, doubtless at the command of the masterful ones above.  The eyes of blue met the eyes of gray in a short, sharp struggle, and the blue went down in surrender.  His lips triumphed slowly, drawing closer and closer as if restrained and impelled by the same emotion—­arrogant love.

“Open your eyes, darling,” he whispered, and she obeyed.  Then their lips met—­her first kiss of love!

She trembled from head to foot, perfectly powerless beneath the spell.  Again he kissed a princess on her throne.  At this second kiss her eyes grew wide with terror, and she sprang from his side, standing before him like one bereft of reason.

“Oh, my God!  What have you done?” she wailed.  He staggered to his feet, dizzy with joy.

“Ha!” cried a gruff voice from the doorway, and the guilty ones whirled to look upon the witness to their blissful crime.  Inside the curtains, with carbine leveled at the head of the American, stood Allode, the guard, his face distorted by rage.  The Princess screamed and leaped between Lorry and the threatening carbine.

“Allode!” she cried, in frantic terror.

He angrily cried out something in his native tongue and she breathlessly, imploringly replied.  Lorry did not understand their words, but be knew that she had saved him from death at the hand of her loyal, erring guard.  Allode lowered his gun, bowed low and turned his back upon the throne.

“He—­he would have killed you,” she said, tremulously, her face the picture of combined agony and relief.  She remembered the blighting kisses and then the averted disaster.

“You—­what did you say to him?” he asked.

“I—­I—­oh, I will not tell you,” she cried.

“I beg of you!”

“I told him that he was to—­was to put down his gun.”

“I know that, but why?” he persisted.

“I—­Ach, to save you, stupid!”

“How did you explain the—­the—­” He hesitated, generously.

“I told him that I had not been—­that I had not been—­”