'Ah, no doubt she was mistaken. But to-day you think we must have patience,' the Prince went on, as if he hoped very much that Hyacinth would allow this valuable conviction to be attributed to him. 'That is also my view.'
'Oh, yes, we must have patience,' said Hyacinth, who was now smiling to himself in the dark.
They had by this time reached the end of the little Crescent, where the Prince paused under the street-lamp. He considered Hyacinth's countenance for a moment by its help, and then he pronounced, 'If I am not mistaken, you know very well the Princess.'
Hyacinth hesitated a moment. 'She has been very kind to me.'
'She is my wife—perhaps you know.'
Again Hyacinth hesitated, but after a moment he replied, 'She has told me that she is married.' As soon as he had spoken these words he thought them idiotic.
'You mean you would not know if she had not told you, I suppose. Evidently, there is nothing to show it. You can think if that is agreeable to me.'
'Oh, I can't think, I can't judge,' said Hyacinth.
'You are right—that is impossible.' The Prince stood before his companion, and in the pale gaslight the latter saw more of his face. It had an unnatural expression, a look of wasted anxiety; the eyes seemed to glitter, and Hyacinth conceived the unfortunate nobleman to be feverish and ill. He continued in a moment: 'Of course you think it strange—my conversation. I want you to tell me something.'
'I am afraid you are very unwell,' said Hyacinth.
'Yes, I am unwell; but I shall be better if you will tell
