THE SOUND OF A TRUMPET
of entreaty, whether it were to him, or to some unseen power which ruled her life, and to which she might have to render an account.
"Yet it is welcome?" he asked quietly. She was long in answering; he waited without impatience, in a confidence devoid of doubt. She seemed to seek for the whole truth and to give it to him in gravest, fullest words.
"It is life, Monseigneur," she said. "I can't see life without it now."
He held out his hands, and very slowly she laid hers in them.
"It is enough—and nothing less could have been enough from you to me and from me to you," he said gently. "Unless we live it together, I think it can be no life for us now."
The chain which had held Marie Zerkovitch motionless suddenly snapped. She rushed into the room, and, forgetful of everything in her agitation, seized the Prince by the arm.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "What do you mean? Are you mad?"
He was very fond of little Marie. He looked down at her now with an affectionate, indulgent smile.
"Come, you've heard what I said, I suppose though it wasn't meant for your ears, you know! Well, then, I mean just what I said, Marie."
"But what do you mean by it?" she persisted in a feverish, almost childish, excitement. She turned on Sophy, too. "And what do you mean by it, Sophy?" she cried.
Sophy passed a hand across her brow. A slow smile relieved the enchanted tension of her face; she seemed to smile in a whimsical surprise at herself. Her answer to Marie came vague and almost dreamy.
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