flowers and the exquisite scent. His tiger was there, and the velvet
pillows of old. All was warm and luxurious, as befitting the shrine of his
goddess and Queen. Only he was alone--alone with his thoughts.

An incredible excitement swept through him, his heart beat to suffocation
in the longing for her to come. Was it possible--was it true that soon she
would be in his arms? A whole world of privation and empty hours to make
up for in their first kiss.

Then from behind the screen of the door to her room she came at last--a
stately figure in long black draperies, her face startlingly white, and
her head wrapped in a mist of black veil. But who can tell of the note of
gladness and welcome she put into the two words, "My Paul!"?

And who can tell of the passionate joy of their long, tender embrace, or
of their talk of each one's impossible night? His lady, too, had not
slept, it appeared. She had cried, she said, and fought with her pillow,
and been so wicked to Anna that the good creature had wept. She had torn
her fine night raiment, and bitten a handkerchief through! But now he had
come, and her soul was at rest. What wonder, when all this was said in his
ear with soft, broken sighs and kisses divine, that Paul should feel like
a god in his pride!

Then he held her at arms'-length and looked at her face. Yes, it was very
pale indeed, and the violet shadows lay under her black lashes. Had she
suffered, his darling--was she ill? But no, the fire in her strange eyes
gave no look of ill-health.

"I was frightened, my own," he said, "in case you were really not well. I
must pet and take care of you all the day. See, you must lie on the sofa