One cold dark afternoon however, as he thus paced to and fro, he saw
the Princesse D'Agramont at a window beckoning him, and with a
sickening terror at his heart, he obeyed the signal.
"I wish you would come and talk to her!" said the Princesse as she
greeted him, with tears in her bright eyes. "She must be roused from
this apathy. I can do nothing with her. But I think YOU might do
much if you would!"
"I will do anything--anything in the wide world!" said Cyrillon
earnestly. "Surely you know that!"
"Yes--but you must not be too gentle with her! I do not mean that
you should be rough--God forbid!--but if you would speak to her with
authority--if you could tell her that she owes her life and her work
to the world--to God--"
She broke off, not trusting herself to say more. Cyrillon raised her
hand to his lips.
"I understand!" he said. "You know I have hesitated--because--I love
her! I cannot tell her not to grieve for her dead betrothed, when I
myself am longing to take his place!"
The Princesse smiled through her tears.
"The position is difficult I admit!" she said, with a returning
touch of playfulness--"But the very fact of your love for her should
give you the force to command her back to life.
Pages:
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862