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CHAPTER VI
MADEMOISELLE OF THE VEIL
The public park at night was a revelation to Maurice, who,
lonely and restless, strolled over from the hotel in quest of
innocent amusement. He was none the worse for his unintended
bath; indeed, if anything, he was much the better for it. His
imagination was excited. It was not every day that a man could,
at one and the same time, fall out of a boat and into the
presence of a princess of royal blood.
He tried to remember all he had said to her, but only two
utterances recurred to him; yet these caused him an exhilaration
like the bouquet of old wine. He had told her that she was
beautiful, indirectly, it was true; she had accepted his
friendship, also indirectly, it was true. Now the logical
sequence of all this was--but he broke into a light laugh. What
little vanity he possessed was without conceit. Princesses of
royal blood were beyond the reach of logical sequence; and
besides, she was to be married on the twentieth of the month.
He followed one of the paths which led to the pavilion. It was a
charming scene, radiant with gas lamps, the vivid kaleidoscope
of gowns and uniforms.
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