Her lips were a cup of wine, and her
eyes bade him drink, and the taste of that wine haunted him as
long as he lived. He made as though to drain the cup, but Madame
pushed down his arms, uttered a low, puzzled laugh, and vanished
from the room. He was lost! He knew it; yet he did not care. He
threw out his arms, dropped them, and settled his shoulders. A
smile, a warm, contented smile, came into his face and dwelt
there. For another such kiss he would have bartered eternity.
And Madame? Who can say?
CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH MAURICE RECURS TO OFFENBACH
Midnight; the music had ceased, and the yellow and scarlet
lanterns had been plucked from the autumnal hangings. The
laughing, smiling, dancing women, like so many Cinderellas, had
disappeared, and with them the sparkle of jewels; and the
gallant officers had ridden away to the jingle of bit and spur.
Throughout the courtly revel all faces had revealed, besides the
happiness and lightness of spirit, a suppressed eagerness for
something yet to come, an event surpassing any they had yet
known.
Promptly at midnight Madame herself had dropped the curtains on
the gay scene because she had urgent need of all her military
household at dawn, when a picture, far different from that which
had just been painted, was to be limned on the broad canvas of
her dreams.
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