more to come. At last she raised herself and poured out the yellow
wine--into one glass.

"My Paul," she said, "this is our wedding might, and this is our wedding
wine. Taste from this our glass and say if it is good."

And to the day of his death, if ever Paul should taste that wine again, a
mad current of passionate remembrance will come to him--and still more
passionate regret.

Oh! the divine joy of that night! They sat upon the balcony presently, and
Elaine in her worshipping thoughts of Lancelot--Marguerite wooed by
Faust--the youngest girl bride--could not have been more sweet or tender
or submissive than this wayward Tiger Queen.

"Paul," she said, "out of the whole world tonight there are only you and I
who matter, sweetheart. Is it not so? And is not that your English word
for lover and loved--'sweetheart'?"

And Paul, who had never even heard it used except in a kind of joke, now
knew it was what he had always admired. Yes, indeed, it was
"sweetheart"--and she was his!

"Remember, Paul," she whispered when, passion maddening him, he clasped
her violently in his arms--"remember--whatever happens--whatever
comes--for now, to-night, there is no other reason in all of this but
just--I love you--I love you, Paul!"

"My Queen, my Queen!" said Paul, his voice hoarse in his throat.