“Why are you sad?” she asked, smiling, and laying her hand on his.  “We can be happy in the present.  We love each other, and can meet often.  You have made a great discovery and are much more famous than you were a few days ago.  A newspaper has told our story, it is true, but there was not a word against either of us in it, for I made them let me read it myself.  And now people will say that we are engaged to be married, and that we got into a foolish scrape and were nearly killed together, and that we are a very romantic couple, like lovers in a book!  Every girl I know wishes she were in my place, I am sure, and half the men in Rome wish that they could have saved some girl’s life as you did mine.  What is there so very dreadful in all that?  What is there to cry about—­dear?”

Half in banter, half in earnest, she spoke to him as if he were a child compared with her, and leaned affectionately towards him; and the last word, the word neither of them had spoken yet, came so softly and sweetly to him on her breath, that he caught his own, and turned a little pale; and the barriers broke all at once, and he kissed her.  Then he got hold upon himself again, and gently pushed her a little further from him, while he put his other hand to his throat and closed his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he said, in a thick voice.  “I could not help it.”

“What is there to forgive?  We are not betraying any one.  You are not breaking a promise to any other woman.  What harm is there?  You did not give your friend your word that you would never love any one, did you?  How could you?  How could you know?”

“I could not know,” he answered in a low voice.  “But I should not have kissed you.”

He knew that she could not understand the point of honour that was so clear to him.

“Let me think for you, sometimes,” she said.

Her voice was as low as his, but dreamily passionate, and the strange young magic vibrated in it, which perfect innocence wields with a destroying strength not even guessed at by itself.

The door opened and the Princess entered the room in a leisurely fashion, wreathed in smiles.  She had successfuly done what it would be very hard for Malipieri to undo.  He rose.

“Have you told Sabina what I said?” she enquired.

“Yes.”

She turned to the girl, who was leaning back in the corner of the sofa.

“Of course you agree, my child?” she said, with a question in her voice, though with no intonation of doubt as to the answer.

“Certainly,” Sabina answered, with perfect self-possession.  “I think it was by far the most sensible we could do.  Signor Malipieri will come to see us, as if he and I were really engaged.”

“Yes,” assented the Princess.  “You cannot go on calling him Signor Malipieri when we are together in the family, my dear.  What is your Christian name?” she asked, turning to him.

“Marino.”