'
'Well,' said the Princess, not without constraint, 'it seems you
changed your mind.'
'Not I,' returned Otto, 'I never changed. Do you remember,
Seraphina, on our way home, when you saw the roses in the lane, and
I got out and plucked them? It was a narrow lane between great
trees; the sunset at the end was all gold, and the rooks were flying
overhead. There were nine, nine red roses; you gave me a kiss for
each, and I told myself that every rose and every kiss should stand
for a year of love. Well, in eighteen months there was an end. But
do you fancy, Seraphina, that my heart has altered?'
'I am sure I cannot tell,' she said, like an automaton.
'It has not,' the Prince continued. 'There is nothing ridiculous,
even from a husband, in a love that owns itself unhappy and that
asks no more. I built on sand; pardon me, I do not breathe a
reproach - I built, I suppose, upon my own infirmities; but I put my
heart in the building, and it still lies among the ruins.'
'How very poetical!' she said, with a little choking laugh, unknown
relentings, unfamiliar softnesses, moving within her. 'What would
you be at?' she added, hardening her voice.
'I would be at this,' he answered; 'and hard it is to say. I would
be at this:- Seraphina, I am your husband after all, and a poor fool
that loves you. Understand,' he cried almost fiercely, 'I am no
suppliant husband; what your love refuses I would scorn to receive
from your pity.
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