Inasmuch as all Noumaria knew that its little Grand Duke, once closeted with the lady whom he delighted to honor, did not love intrusions, and inasmuch as a discreet Court had learned, long ago, to regard the summer-house as consecrate to his Highness and the Baroness von Altenburg,—for these reasons the Grand Duke was inclined to resent disturbance of his privacy when he first peered out into the gardens.
 
His countenance was less severe when he turned again toward the Baroness, and it smacked more of bewilderment.
 
"It is only my wife," he said.
 
"And the Comte de Châteauroux," said the Baroness.
 
There is no denying that their voices were somewhat lowered. The chill and frail beauty of the Grand Duchess was plainly visible from where they sat; to every sense a woman of snow, his Highness mentally decided, for her gown this evening was white and the black hair powdered; all white she was, a cloud-tatter in the moonlight: yet with the Comte de Châteauroux as a foil, his uniform of the Cuirassiers a big stir of glitter and color, she made an undeniably handsome picture; and it was, quite possibly, the Grand Duke's æsthetic taste which held him for the moment motionless.
 
"After all—" he began, and rose.
 
"I am afraid that her Highness—" the Baroness likewise commenced.
 
"She would be sure to," said the Grand Duke, and thereupon he sat down.
 
"I do not, however," said the Baroness, "approve of eavesdropping."
 
"Oh, if you put it that way—" agreed the Grand Duke, and he was rising once more, when the voice of de Châteauroux stopped him.
 
"No, not at any cost!" de Châteauroux; was saying; "I cannot and I will not give you up, Victoria!"
 
"—though I have heard," said his Highness, "that the moonlight is bad for the eyes." Saying this, he seated himself composedly in the darkest corner of the summer-house.
 
"This is madness!" the Grand Duchess said—"sheer madness."
 
"Madness, if you will," de Châteauroux persisted, "yet it is a madness too powerful and sweet to be withstood. Listen, Victoria,"—and he waved his hand toward the palace, whence music, softened by the distance, came from the lighted windows,—"do you not remember? They used to play that air at Staarberg."
 
The Grand Duchess had averted her gaze from him. She did not speak.
 
He continued: "Those were contented days, were they not, when we were boy and girl together? I have danced to that old-world tune so many times—with you! And to-night, madame, it recalls a host of unforgettable things, for it brings back to memory the scent of that girl's hair, the soft cheek that sometimes brushed mine, the white shoulders which I so often had hungered to kiss, before I dared—"
 
"Hein?" muttered the Grand Duke.
 
"We are no longer boy and girl," the Grand Duchess said. "All that lies behind us. It was a dream—a foolish dream which we must forget."
 
"Can you in truth forget?" de Châteauroux demanded,—"can you forget it all, Victoria?—forget that night a Gnestadt, when you confessed you loved me? forget that day at Staarberg, when we were lost in the palace gardens?"
 
"Mon Dieu, what a queer method!" murmured the Grand Duke. "The man makes love by the almanac."
 
"Nay, dearest woman in the world," de Châteauroux went on, "you loved me once, and that you cannot have quite forgotten. We were happy then—very incredibly happy,—and now—"
 
"Life," said the Grand Duchess, "cannot always be happy."
 
"Ah, no, my dear! nor is it to be elated by truisms. But what a life is this of mine,—a life of dreary days, filled with sick, viv............