acity to love again. It was the last thing I
wanted. Abhorrent! But . . . but . . . he has something for me that
you--not even you--ever had . . . that I had given up hope of finding
long before I met you. . . ."

She stopped, coloring and hesitating. She had an intense desire to
make this man understand, but she shivered, as if her proud reserve
were a visible garment that she had torn off and flung at his feet,
leaving her naked to his ironic gaze.

He was leaning forward, regarding her through his veiled eyes. Their
light was not ironic, but it was very penetrating.

"And what is that something, Marie?" he asked softly.

"I--you know those things cannot be put into words."

"I fancy they can. It is merely one more delusion of the senses. One
of the imagination's most devilish tricks. I had it for you and you
for me--for a time! In the intimacies of either a _liaison_ or
matrimony that supreme delusion is soon scattered, _ma chere_."

"But I believe it." She spoke obstinately, although that brawling
stream seemed to take on a note of derision.

"Do you? Not in the depths of your clear brain. The mist on top is
dense and hot--but, alas for those mists!"

"I refuse to discuss it," she said haughtily. "Why do you wish to
marry me yourself?"

"Because I need your partnership as much as you need mine. Even if you
returned to Austria unencumbered, you could accomplish less alone than
with a man of equal endowments and greater power beside you. Two
strong brains and characters with similar purpose can always accomplish
more together than alone. I intend to rule and to save Austria, and I
need you, your help, your advice, your subtlety, your compelling
fascination, and your great personality."

"Do you intend to make yourself king?" she asked insolently, although
his words had thrilled her.

"You know that is a foolish question. I do not even use my title
there. But I intend to make Vienna the capital of a great and powerful
Republic, and I therefore ask you to renounce, before it is too late,
this commonplace and unworthy dream of young love, and stand beside me.
Youth--real youth--and the best years of maturity are the seasons for
love. You and I have sterner duties. Do you suppose that I would
sacrifice Austria for some brief wild hope of human happiness? And you
are only two years younger than I am. Nothing can alter the march of
the years. Moreover, you owe to Austria this wonderful re