termines to have what is
denied him," answered Paul quietly. "Somebody must suffer in the
encounter, or somebody must yield."

"Somebody,--yes. Why do you talk about it, Paul?"

"Because I think of nothing else. I cannot help it. It is easy to say,
'Let this or that alone;' it is another matter to talk to you about the
bazaar, and the Turks, and the weather, when we are together."

Hermione was silent, for there was nothing to be said. She knew how
well he loved her, and when she was with him she submitted in a measure
to his influence; so that often she was on the point of yielding, and
telling him that she no longer hesitated. It was when she was away from
him that she doubted herself, and refused to be persuaded. Paul needed
only a very little to complete his conquest, but that little he could
not command. He had reached the point at which a man talks of the woman
he loves or of himself, and of nothing else, and the depth of his
passion seemed to dull his speech. A little more eloquence, a little
more gentleness, a little more of that charm which Alexander possessed
in such abundance, might have been enough to turn the scale. But they
were lacking. The very intensity of what he felt made him for the time a
man of one idea only, and even the freedom with which he could speak to
Hermione about his love for her was a disadvantage to him. It had grown
to be too plain a fact, and there was too little left to the
imagination. He felt that he wearied her, or he fancied that he did,
which amounted to the same; and he either remained tongue-tied, or
repeated in one form or another his half-savage 'I will.' He began to
long for a change in their relations, or for some opportunity of
practically showing her how much he would sacrifice for her sake. But in
these days there are no lists for the silent knights; there are no
jousts where a man may express his declaration of love by tying a lady's
colors to his arm, and breaking the bones of half a dozen gentlemen
before her eyes. And yet the instinct to do something of the kind is
sometimes felt even now,--the longing to win by physical prowess what it
is at present the fashion to get by persuasion.

Paul felt it strongly enough, and was disgusted with his own stupidity.
Of what use was it that during so many years he had cultivated the art
of conversation as a necessary accomplishment, if at his utmost need his
wits were to abandon him, and leave him uncouth and taciturn as he