od beats in my veins
still; I can feel the rhythm throbbing, can you? Speak to me,
Countess--are you better?"

"Is any one here," said the girl faintly, "Are we alone?"

"Yes, yes, we are alone."

"Will the Duke come in?"

"Not yet. Put your head back against the cushions and rest. The
colour is gone from your cheeks and you are pale like a broken flower.
Listen--do you hear the violins in the distance? Your feet move like
mine; every pulse in your body is tingling and throbbing. Rest; don't
speak, and in a moment--Kaya--"

Again the Countess pushed him back, her blue eyes sparkling, flashing
on his: "Prince, hush! Don't speak to me like that. You don't know,
how can you! Poor boy--poor boy! Don't look at me; I tell you, don't
look at me. In the dusk it might be the Duke himself, his very self!
Go--Leave me a little. If he were good like you--but you will be bad
too when you are older, wicked, cruel--the blood is there in your
veins. You will be like the rest. Keep away from me, Michel. Don't
kiss my hands, not--my--hands!"

The Countess tore them away and gazed at the young officer, her eyes
wild and dilated. She gave a little cry as of pain.

"No--no! I can bear all the rest, but not this--not this! Get up off
your knees Prince. Leave me--leave me for a little while--I must
think; I must be alone and think."

Her hair sparkled and gleamed against the cushions. One hand was still
clasped to her breast. He stooped over her, panting.

"Come and dance with me, Kaya--dearest. You are well now; your cheeks
are like roses. The wine is so strong when one is giddy. Let me put
my arms about you--come! I love you. Ah, your hair is like a halo;
your lips are trembling. The tears in your eyes are like dew, Kaya."

The Countess rose slowly to her feet. "Yes, you are like your father
already," she cried, "Already you are cowardly. You are strong and you
think I am weak." Her head was thrown back; she measured him
scornfully, "Go and dance, sir. Leave me, I tell you."

The Prince held out his hands. "Leave you!" he cried, "No, Kaya, no.
Come and dance."

"Leave me--leave me."

He came nearer: "Are you still faint? Will you rest and let me come
back? When? How soon?"

"Leave me."

He took out his watch: "Nearly midnight," he cried, "then the Duke will
return. When the clock strikes, Kaya, it will be our dance. You will
waltz with me then--once more? As soon as the clock strikes?