"It is hot," said Constance, removing her mask, and letting the wrap
fall back from her shoulders.
"All the more reason you should be careful," said Adrien, replacing it
gently.
She smiled, as she gazed up at him.
"You look very tired," she said softly. "This ball has been a strain on
you, has it not?"
"Not more than usual," he returned. "At any rate, it will be my last for
some time to come."
"Your last!" she echoed, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes.
"What do you mean, Adrien?"
"I am going away after to-night," he said hoarsely; for the sight of her
beauty was goading him almost to despair.
"Going away!" she hardly breathed the words; her face had paled in the
moonlight, till it looked almost unearthly. "Why?"
"You ask me why?" he murmured, his forehead damp with the force of his
emotion. "You, who know how I love you--worship your very shadow!"
She trembled under the passion of his gaze.
"Adrien!" she exclaimed, in low, reproachful tones. "Why do you speak to
me like that, when I know how little your words really mean?"
"Little!" he cried with suppressed passion. "Ah, Constance, why are you
so cruel to me? Why do you so misjudge me, when I would gladly die to
serve you?"
The earnestness in his tones was unmistakable; but she kept her face
turned from him, and he knew only from the quick-drawn breath that she
had heard him.
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