LITMIR.BIZ

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talk of love too lightly."

      "I am in earnest, Lydie. Why should you doubt? Are you not beautiful enough to satisfy any man's ardour?"

      "Am I not influential enough, you mean," she said, with a slight tremor in her rich young voice, "to satisfy any man's ambition?"

      "Is ambition a crime in your eyes, Lydie?"

      "No; but – "

      "I am ambitious; you cannot condemn me for that," he said, now speaking in more impressive tone. "When we were playmates together, years ago, you remember? in the gardens at Cluny, if other lads were there, was I not always eager to be first in the race, first in the field – first always, everywhere?"

      "Even at the cost of sorrow and humiliation to the weaker ones."

      He shrugged his shoulders with easy unconcern.

      "There is no success in life for the strong," he said, "save at the cost of sorrow and humiliation for the weak. Lydie," he added more earnestly, "if I am ambitious it is because my love for you has made me humble. I do not feel that as I am, I am worthy of you; I want to be rich, to be influential, to be great. Is that wrong? I want your pride in me, almost as much as your love."

      "You were rich once, Gaston," she said, a little coldly. "Your father was rich."

      "Is it my fault if I am poor now?"

      "They tell me it is; they say that you are over-fond of cards, and of other pleasures which are less avowable."

      "And you believe them?"

      "I hardly know," she whispered.

      "You have ceased to love me, then?"

      "Gaston!"

      There as a tone of tender reproach there, which the young man was swift enough to note; the beautiful face before him was in full light; he could see well that a rosy blush had chased away the usual matt pallor of her cheeks, and that the full red lips trembled a little now, whilst the severe expression of the eyes was veiled in delicate moisture.

      "Your face has betrayed you, Lydie!" he said, with sudden vehemence, though his voice even now hardly rose above a whisper. "If you have not forgotten your promises made to me at Cluny – in the shadow of those beech trees, do you remember? You were only thirteen – a mere child – yet already a woman, the soft breath of spring fanned your glowing cheeks, your loose hair blew about your face, framing your proud little head in a halo of gold – you remember, Lydie?"

      "I have not forgotten," she said gently.

      "Your hand was in mine – a child's hand, Lydie, but yours for all that – and you promised – you remember? And if you have not forgotten – if you do love me, not, Heaven help me! as I love you, but only just a little better than any one else in the world; well, then, Lydie, why these bickerings, why these reproaches? I am poor now, but soon I will be rich! I have no power, but soon I will rule France, with you to help me if you will!"

      He had grown more and more vehement as he spoke, carried along by the torrent of his own eloquence. But he had not moved; he still sat with his back to the company, and his face shaded by his hand; his voice was still low, impressive in its ardour. Then, as the young girl's graceful head drooped beneath the passionate expression of his gaze, bending, as it were, to the intensity of his earnest will, his eyes flashed a look of triumph, a premonition of victory close at hand. Lydie's strong personality was momentarily weakened by the fatigue of a long and arduous evening, by the heavy atmosphere of the room; her senses were dulled by the penetrating odours of wine and perfumes which fought with those of cosmetics.

      She seemed to be yielding to the softer emotions, less watchful of her own dignity, less jealous of her own power. The young man felt that at this moment he held her just as he wished; did he stretch out his hand she would place hers in it. The recollections of her childhood had smothered all thoughts of present conflicts and of political intrigues. Mlle. d'Aumont, the influential daughter of an all-powerful Minister, had momentarily disappeared, giving way to madcap little Lydie, with short skirts and flying chestnut curls, the comrade of the handsome boy in the old gardens at Cluny.

      "Lydie, if you loved me!" whispered Stainville.

      "If I loved you!" and there was a world of pathos in that girlish "if."

      "You would help me instead of reproaching."

      "What do you want me to do, Gaston?"

      "Your word is law with your father," he said persuasively. "He denies you nothing. You said I was ambitious; one word from you – this new Ministry – "

      He realized his danger, bit his lip lest he had been too precipitate. Lydie was headstrong, she was also very shrewd; the master-mind that guided the destinies of France through the weak indulgence of a father was not likely to be caught in a snare like any love-sick maid. Her woman's instinct – he knew that – was keen to detect self-interest; and if he aroused the suspicions of the wealthy and influential woman before he had wholly subjugated her heart, he knew that he would lose the biggest stake of his life.

      Lately she had held aloof from him, the playmates had become somewhat estranged; the echoes of his reckless life must, he thought, have reached her ears, and he himself had not been over-eager for the companionship of this woman, who seemed to have thrown off all the light-heartedness of her sex for the sake of a life of activity and domination.

      She was known to be cold and unapproachable, rigidly conscientious in transacting the business of the State, which her father with easy carelessness gradually left on her young shoulders, since she seemed to find pleasure in it.

      But her influence, of which she was fully conscious, had rendered her suspicious. Even now, when the call of her youth, of her beauty, of the happy and tender recollections of her childhood loudly demanded to be heard, she cast a swift, inquiring glance at Gaston.

      He caught the glance, and, with an involuntary movement of impatience, his hand, which up to now had so carefully masked the expression of his face, came crashing down upon the table.

      "Lydie," he said impetuously, "in the name of God throw aside your armour for one moment! Is life so long that you can afford to waste it? Have you learned the secret of perpetual youth that you deliberately fritter away its golden moments in order to rush after the Dead Sea fruit of domination and power? Lydie!" he whispered with passionate tenderness; "my little Lydie of the crisp chestnut hair, of the fragrant woods around Cluny, leave those giddy heights of ambition; come down to earth, where my arms await you! I will tell you of things, my little Lydie, which are far more beautiful, far more desirable, than the sceptre and kingdom of France; and when I press you close to my heart you will taste a joy far sweeter than that which a crown of glory can give. Will you not listen to me, Lydie? Will you not share with me that joy which renders men the equal of God?"

      His hand had wandered up the damask curtain, gently drawing its heavy folds from out her clinging fingers. The rich brocade fell behind him with a soft and lingering sound like the murmured "Hush – sh – sh!" of angels' wings shutting out the noise and glare beyond, isolating them both from the world and its conflicts, its passions, and its ceaseless strife.

      Secure from prying eyes, Gaston de Stainville threw all reserve from him with a laugh of pride and of joy. Half kneeling, wholly leaning toward her, his arms encircled her young figure, almost pathetic now in its sudden and complete abandonment. With his right hand he drew that imperious little head down until his lips had reached her ear.

      "Would you have me otherwise, my beautiful proud queen?" he whispered softly. "Should I be worthy of the cleverest woman in France if my ambition and hopes were not at least as great as hers? Lydie," he added, looking straight into her eyes, "if you asked me for a kingdom in the moon, I swear to God that I would make a start in order to conquer it for you! Did you, from sheer caprice, ask to see my life's blood ebbing out of my body, I would thrust this dagger without hesitation into my heart."

      "Hush! hush!" she said earnestly; "that is extravagant talk, Gaston. Do not desecrate love by such folly."

      "'Tis not folly, Lydie. Give me your lips and you, too, will understand."

      She closed her eyes. It

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