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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Puppet Crown"

"
Again Madame found her foil turned aside. She began to lose
patience. Her boot patted the sod. "Monsieur, since the countess
is not high enough, since gold and honors have no charm, listen."
"I am listening, Madame."
"I permit you to witness the comic opera, but I shall allow no
prompting from outsiders."
"Madame, do you expect me to sit calmly by and see my friend
made a fool?" He spoke warmly and his eyes remained steadfast.
"Certainly that is what you shall do," coldly.
"Madame, you are a beautiful woman; heaven has endowed you with
something more than beauty. Is it possible that the gods forgot
to mix conscience in the mold?"
"Conscience? Royalty knows none."
"Ah, Madame, wait till you are royal."
"Take care. You have not felt my anger."
"I would rather that than your love."
She marveled at her patience.
"If you have no conscience, Madame, I have. I shall warn him.
You shall not dishonor him if I can prevent it. You wish to win
his love, and you have gauged the possibilities of it so
accurately that you know you will have but to ask, be it his
honor or his life. A far finer thing it would be for you to win
your crown at the point of the sword.


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