come. You
love him so.'

'Come,' she still said, 'come/ and taking his hand drew him to the
entrance. Step by step the splashing of the rain made them draw back
as far as the sarcophagus, and there, half sitting, half standing, they
remained side by side, contemplating beneath the low clouds the 'old
town' of the dead, which sloped away at their feet with its crowding
throng of pinnacles and grey figures and humbler stones, rising like
Druid architecture from the bright green. No birds were audible, no
sound of tools, nothing but the water running away on all sides, and
from the canvas cover of a half-finished monument the monotonous voices
of two artisans discussing their worries. The rain without made it all
the warmer within, and with the strong aroma of the flowers mingled
still that other inseparable scent The Princess had raised her veil,
feeling the same oppression and dryness of the mouth that she had felt
on the way up. Speechless and motionless, the pair seemed so much a
part of the tomb, that a little brown, bird came hopping in to shake
its feathers and pick a worm between the slabs. 'It's a nightingale,'
murmured Paul in the sweet overpowering stillness. She tried to say, 'Do
they sing still in this month?' But he had taken her in his arms, he had
set her between his knees at the edge of the granite couch, and putting
her head back, pressed upon her half-open lips a long, long kiss,
passionately returned.

[Illustration: Pressed upon her half-open lips a long, long kiss 146]

'Because love is more strong than death,' said the inscription from the
Canticle, written above them upon the marble wall.

When the Princess reached her house, where Madame Astier was awaiting
her return, she had a long cry in the arms of her friend, a refuge
unhappily not more trustworthy than those of her friend's son. It was
a burst of lamentation and broken words. 'Oh, my dear, oh, my dear, how
miserable I am! If you knew,' she said, 'if you only knew!' She felt
with despair the hopeless difficulty of the situation, her hand solemnly
promised to the Prince d'Athis, and her affections just plighted to the
enchanter of the tombs, whom she cursed from the depths of her soul.
And, most distressing of all, she could not confide her weakness to her
affectionate friend, being sure that, the moment she opened her lips,
the mother would side with her son against 'Sammy,' with love against
prudence, and perhaps even compel her to the i