id, for suddenly her manner had changed;
something of its coolness had gone from it, even if the pride was still
there. While she spoke a warm tinge of pink flooded her cheeks; she was
leaning forward, her eyes bright and glowing were fixed upon him with a
look of eagerness and almost of appeal, and her lips were moist and
trembling, whilst the words which she wished to speak seemed to be dying
in her throat.

"What hath the progress of the Prince of Orange to do with your most
humble and most obedient servant?" he asked again.

"I must speak with the Prince of Orange, sir," she said while her voice
now soft and mellow fell almost like a prayer on his ear. "I must go to
him to Delft not later than to-morrow. Oh! you will not refuse me
this ... you cannot ... I...."

She had clasped her hands together, her eyes were wet with tears, and as
she pleaded, she bent forward so low in her chair, that it seemed for a
moment as if her knees would touch the ground. In the flickering
candle-light she looked divinely pretty thus, with all the cold air of
pride gone from her childlike face. A gentle draught stirred the fair
curls round her head, the fur cloak had completely slipped down from her
shoulders and her white dress gave her more than ever the air of that
Madonna carved in marble which he had seen once in the cathedral at
Prague.

The philosopher passed a decidedly shaking hand across his forehead: the
room was beginning to whirl round him, the floor to give way under his
feet. He fell to thinking that the mild ale offered to him by Ben Isaje
had been more heady than he had thought.

"St. Bavon," he murmured to himself, "where in Heaven's name are ye now?
I asked you to stand by me."

It was one of those moments--perfect in themselves--when a man can
forget everything that pertains to the outer world, when neither
self-interest nor ordinary prudence will count, when he is ready to
jeopardize his life, his career, his future, his very soul for the
ecstasy which lies in the one heaven-born minute. Thus it was with this
philosopher, this man of the moment, the adventurer, the soldier of
fortune; the world which he had meant to conquer, the fortune which he
had vowed to win seemed to slip absolutely away from him. This
dream--for it was after all only a dream, it was just too beautiful to
be reality--the continuance of this dream seemed to him to be all that
mattered, this girl--proud and pleading--a Madonna, a saint, a c