ack with mother to Bartenstein!" she went on,
shaking her head in horror. "How could you imagine it? Fancy Bartenstein
again!"

Evidently I was preferable to Bartenstein again, to the narrow humdrum
life there. No poles, no flags, no illuminations, no cheers, no dignity!
Diamonds even scarce and rare! I tried to take heart. It was something
to be better than Bartenstein again.

"And what would they think of me? Oh, it's too absurd! But of course you
were joking?"

"Oh, not more than usual, Elsa. You might have found me even more
tiresome than Bartenstein."

"Nonsense! It would always be better here than at Bartenstein."

Clearly there was no question in her mind on this point. Forstadt and
I--let me share, since I may not engross the credit--were much better
than going back to Bartenstein.

She was looking at me with an uneasy, almost suspicious air.

"What made you ask that question?" she said abruptly.

I looked round the room. Among the many groups in talk there were faces
turned toward us, regarding us with a discreet good-humoured amusement.
The King forgot his duties and talked with his lady-love. Every moment
buttressed the reputation of our love match. Let it be so; it was best.
Yet the sham was curiously unpleasant to me.

"Why did you ask me that question, Augustin? You had a reason?"

"No, none; except that in forty-eight hours it will be too late to ask
it."

She leaned toward me in agitated pleading.

"I do love you, Augustin. I love nobody so much as you--you and father."

I and father! Poor girl, how she admitted while she thought to deny! But
I was full of a pity and a tenderness for her, and forgot my own pride.

"You're so good to me; and there's no reason why you should like me."

"Like?" said I. "A gentleman must pretend sometimes, or so it's
thought."

"Yes. What do you mean?" Pleased coquetry gleamed for a moment in her
eyes. "Do you mean--love me?"

"It is impossible, is it?" I asked, and I looked into her eyes as though
I desired her love. Well, I did, that she might have peace.

She blushed, and suddenly, as it were by an uncontrollable immediate
impulse, glanced round. Whose face did she seek? Was it not his who last
had looked at her in that fashion? He was not in sight. Her gaze fell
downward. Ah, that you had been a better diplomatist, Elsa. For though a
man may know the truth, he loves sometimes one who will deny it to him
pleasantly. He gains thereby a respite and an