yourself. And, Cæsar, if you stay any longer, or—come again soon—other people will laugh at you."
To this day I do not know whether she meant to give a genuine warning, or to strike a chord that should sound back defiance.
"If ten thousand of them laugh, what is it to me? They dare laugh only behind my back," I said.
She laughed before my face; the screen fell, and she laughed, saying softly, "Cæsar, Cæsar!"
I was wonderfully happy in my perturbation. The great charm she had for me was to-day alloyed less than ever before by the sense of rawness which she, above all others, could compel me to feel. To-day she herself was not wholly calm, not mistress of herself without a struggle, without her moments of faintness. Yet now she appeared composed again, and there was nothing but merriment in her eyes. She seemed to have forgotten that I was supposed to be gone. I daresay that not to her, any more than to myself, could I seem quite like an ordinary boy; perhaps the more I forgot what was peculiar about me the more she remembered it, my oblivion serving to point her triumph.
"And the Princess?" she asked, laughing still, but now again a little nervously.
My exultation, finding vent in mischief and impelled by curiosity, drove me to a venture.
"I shall tell the Princess that I kissed you," said I.
The Countess suddenly sat upright.
"And that you kissed me—several times," I continued.
"How dare you?" she cried in a whisper; and
