"How soft the night! How exquisite!" he sighed.
"Indeed," she agreed. "And how still, but for the gentle murmur
of the river."
"The river!" he cried, on a new note. "That is no gentle murmur.
The river laughs, maliciously mocking. The river is evil."
"Evil?" quoth she. He had checked in his step, and they stood now
side by side.
"Evil," he repeated. "Evil and cruel. It goes to swell the sea
that soon shall divide me from you, and it mocks me, rejoicing
wickedly in the pain that will presently be mine."
It took her aback. She laughed, a little breathlessly, to hide
her discomposure, and scarce knew how to answer him, scarce knew
whether she took pleasure or offense in his daring encroachment
upon that royal aloofness in which she dwelt, and in which her
Spanish rearing had taught her she must ever dwell.
"Oh, but Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, you will be with us again,
perhaps before so very long."
His answer came in a swift, throbbing question, his lips so near
her face that she could feel his breath hot upon her cheek.
"Do you wish it, madame? Do you wish it? I implore you, of your
pity, say but that you wish it, and I will come, though I tear
down half a world to reach you.
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