But this woman is different. She’s as different to other women as wine is different to toast-and-water. She has the feu-sacrè, She’s done something to the very inmost soul of me ; she’s laid it bare, and set it quivering and yearning. She’s made herself indispensable to me; I can’t live without her. Ah, you don t know what she’s like. She’s like some strange, beautiful, burning spirit. Oh, for an hour with her, I’d give my kingdom. To touch her hand — to look into those eyes of hers — to hear her speak to me! I tell you squarely, if she’d have me, I’d throw up the whole scheme of my existence, I’d fly with her to the uttermost ends of the earth. But she has totally disappeared, and I can do nothing to recover her without betraying my identity; and that would spoil everything. I want her to love me for myself, believing me to be a plain man, like you or anybody. If she knew who I am, how could I ever be sure?"
"You are in a bad way," said Hilary, looking at him with amusement. "And yet, I’m gratified to see it. Her hair is not so red as I could wish, but, after all, it’s reddish; and you appear to be genuinely aflame. It will do you no end of good; it will make a man of you — a plain man, like me or anybody. But your impatience is not reasoned. A fortnight? You have not met her for a fortnight? My dear, to a plain man a fortnight’s nothing. It’s just an appetiser. Watch and wait, and you’ll meet her before you know it. And now, if you will excuse me, I have business in another quarter of the palace."
Ferdinand Augustus, left to himself, went down into the garden. It was a wonderful summer’s evening, made indeed (if I may steal a phrase from Hilary) of perfumed velvet. The sun had set an hour since, but the western sky was still splendid, like
