She exhaled a
delicate perfume such as incorporates itself in persons of high
degree and becomes a natural emanation, an incense vague and
indescribable. He felt that he was gazing on the culmination of
youth, beauty, and elegance. . . Yes, Fitzgerald was right. To
beggar one's self for love; honor and life, and all to the winds
if only love remained.
Presently she straightened, and he centered his gaze on the back
of the groom.
"Monsieur, place your hat upon your head," smiling. "We have
entered the Strasse, and I should not like to embarrass you with
the attention of the citizens."
He put on his hat. The impulse came to tell her all that he knew
in regard to the kingdom's affairs; but his voice refused its
offices. Besides, it was too late; the carriage was rolling into
the Platz, and in a moment more it drew up before the terrace of
the Continental Hotel. Maurice stepped out and bared his head.
"This evening, Monsieur, at nine, I shall expect to see you at
the archbishop's reception to the corps diplomatique." A hand
was extended toward him. He did not know what to do about it. "I
am offering you my hand to kiss, Monsieur Carewe; it is a
privilege which I do not extend to all.
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