know, had clashed more than once against his own. Now such a thing seemed impossible ever again, so discarded by her was all reserve, so submissive was she, so eager to please.
It may have been his protracted absence that had rendered her aware of the true depth of her feelings for him, brought her to realize how necessary he had become to her happiness to her existence.
They came to a fence that ran down to the murmuring water. Beyond it a little rivulet tumbled into the Lippe over a miniature cascade, at the sides of which long icicles glittered iridescent in the morning sun. At her request he hoisted her to the fence, so that she might rest a moment before they retraced their steps. Having set her there, he stood before her, and her hands were on his shoulders, and her blue eyes smiled softly into his.
"I am so glad, André so glad, so glad that we are not to part again that this time you have come to me to stay."
He heard the words and, intoxicated by the fond tone in which they were uttered, he missed the faint note of fear that beat in the heart of it, that may have been the very source of her utterance. He kissed her. Her face close to his she looked deep into his eyes.
"It is for always, André?"
"For always, dear love. For always," he answered in a solemn voice that made the phrase a vow.
CHAPTER X
DISPOSAL
The Count of Provence—Regent of France since the execution of his brother, Louis XVI—sat at a writing-table in the window of a large, low-ceilinged room that was at once study, audience-chamber and salon d'honneur, in the wooden châlet at Hamm that he was permitted to occupy by the indulgence of the King of Prussia. His highness was learning in the bitter school of experience that friends are for the fortunate.
Some few there were who clung to him. But these were men, mutatis mutandi, in his own sad case; men who served him, and continued to discern in him princely qualities, because their future was bound up with his own.
Nevertheless his confidence was as unabated as his corpulence. He preserved at once his bulk and his faith in himself and destiny. He maintained upon slenderest means and in almost ignoble surroundings a sort of state. Four ministers were appointed to deal with his affairs, and with two secretaries and four servants, made up his establishment and that of his brother, the Comte d'Artois, who had joined him here after having been arrested for debt at Maestricht. He had his ambassadors at all the courts of Europe; and to accelerate the inevitable he spent long hours daily writing letters in that fine, precise, upright hand of his to his brother-rulers and to his sister-ruler, Catherine of Russia, in whom he founded considerable hopes. One or two of his correspondents meanwhile lent him a little money.
The only ladies attached to this court of his were Madame de Plougastel and Mademoiselle de Kercadiou, the wife of one and the niece of the other of the two gentlemen who were at present acting as his secretaries. The Countess of Provence and her sister, the Countess of Artois, remained forgotten in Turin at the court of their father. Madame de Balbi, whose joyous nature found no scope at the dour court of his Sardinian majesty and whose sybaritic tastes could not have endured for a day the monastic privations of Hamm, had established herself at Brussels, whilst awaiting those better times which now seemed to recede instead of approaching. A genuine affection for her being one of his redeeming characteristics, Monsieur could not bring himself to send for her and doom her to these Westphalian hardships. Besides, it was always possible that she would have refused to come.
From its scant, severe furnishings you might almost judge the room he now occupied to have been a monastery parlour. Gone were the white-and-gold walls, the long mirrors, the crystal chandeliers, the soft carpets, the rich brocades and the gilt furniture of Schönbornlust. The only armchair present, and this with a simple serge
It may have been his protracted absence that had rendered her aware of the true depth of her feelings for him, brought her to realize how necessary he had become to her happiness to her existence.
They came to a fence that ran down to the murmuring water. Beyond it a little rivulet tumbled into the Lippe over a miniature cascade, at the sides of which long icicles glittered iridescent in the morning sun. At her request he hoisted her to the fence, so that she might rest a moment before they retraced their steps. Having set her there, he stood before her, and her hands were on his shoulders, and her blue eyes smiled softly into his.
"I am so glad, André so glad, so glad that we are not to part again that this time you have come to me to stay."
He heard the words and, intoxicated by the fond tone in which they were uttered, he missed the faint note of fear that beat in the heart of it, that may have been the very source of her utterance. He kissed her. Her face close to his she looked deep into his eyes.
"It is for always, André?"
"For always, dear love. For always," he answered in a solemn voice that made the phrase a vow.
CHAPTER X
DISPOSAL
The Count of Provence—Regent of France since the execution of his brother, Louis XVI—sat at a writing-table in the window of a large, low-ceilinged room that was at once study, audience-chamber and salon d'honneur, in the wooden châlet at Hamm that he was permitted to occupy by the indulgence of the King of Prussia. His highness was learning in the bitter school of experience that friends are for the fortunate.
Some few there were who clung to him. But these were men, mutatis mutandi, in his own sad case; men who served him, and continued to discern in him princely qualities, because their future was bound up with his own.
Nevertheless his confidence was as unabated as his corpulence. He preserved at once his bulk and his faith in himself and destiny. He maintained upon slenderest means and in almost ignoble surroundings a sort of state. Four ministers were appointed to deal with his affairs, and with two secretaries and four servants, made up his establishment and that of his brother, the Comte d'Artois, who had joined him here after having been arrested for debt at Maestricht. He had his ambassadors at all the courts of Europe; and to accelerate the inevitable he spent long hours daily writing letters in that fine, precise, upright hand of his to his brother-rulers and to his sister-ruler, Catherine of Russia, in whom he founded considerable hopes. One or two of his correspondents meanwhile lent him a little money.
The only ladies attached to this court of his were Madame de Plougastel and Mademoiselle de Kercadiou, the wife of one and the niece of the other of the two gentlemen who were at present acting as his secretaries. The Countess of Provence and her sister, the Countess of Artois, remained forgotten in Turin at the court of their father. Madame de Balbi, whose joyous nature found no scope at the dour court of his Sardinian majesty and whose sybaritic tastes could not have endured for a day the monastic privations of Hamm, had established herself at Brussels, whilst awaiting those better times which now seemed to recede instead of approaching. A genuine affection for her being one of his redeeming characteristics, Monsieur could not bring himself to send for her and doom her to these Westphalian hardships. Besides, it was always possible that she would have refused to come.
From its scant, severe furnishings you might almost judge the room he now occupied to have been a monastery parlour. Gone were the white-and-gold walls, the long mirrors, the crystal chandeliers, the soft carpets, the rich brocades and the gilt furniture of Schönbornlust. The only armchair present, and this with a simple serge
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