sky, obscuring the stars here and there.

The lady was quiet and tender, her eyes melting upon Paul, and something
of her ring-dove mood was upon her again. Not once, since they had been on
the Buergenstock, had she shown any of the tigerish waywardness that he had
had glimpses of at first. It seemed as if her moods, like her chameleon
eyes, took colour from her surroundings, and there all was primitive
simplicity and nature and peace.

Paul himself was in a state of ecstasy. He hardly knew whether he trod on
air or no. No siren of old Greek fable had ever lured mortal more under
her spell than this strange foreign woman thing--Queen or Princess or what
you will. Nothing else in the world was of any consequence to him--and it
was all the more remarkable because subjection was in no way part of his
nature. Paul was a masterful youth, and ruled things to his will in his
own home.

The lady talked of him--of his tastes--of his pleasures. There was not an
incident in his life, or of his family, that she had not fathomed by now.
All about Isabella even--poor Isabella! And she told him how she
sympathised with the girl, and how badly he had behaved.

"Another proof, my Paul, of what I said today--no one must make vows about
love."

But Paul, in his heart, believed her not. He would worship her for ever,
he knew.

"Yes," she said, answering his thoughts. "You think so, beloved, and it
may be so because you do not know from moment to moment how I shall be--if