A million pities the
Salic Law barred her from the succession. What a Queen Regnant she
would make! Aye, what a Queen Consort she would be! What a wife!
Then the last high note of the National Air blared out and the
Princess, turning quickly, caught my look and straightway read my
thoughts. A sudden flush swept over her face and neck and she dropped
her eyes. Silently I placed a chair for her; as she took it, her bare
arm rested against my hand. The effect on me, in the stress of my
feelings at that moment, is indescribable. I know I gasped--and my
throat got hot and my heart pounded in sharp pain.
But I did not withdraw my hand--nor did the Princess remove her arm.
Its soft, warm flesh pressed against my fingers--the perfume of her
hair enveloped my face--the beat of her bosom was just below me.
A fierce impulse seized me to take her in my arms--there, before them
all, the Court and the Capital. Reason told me to step back. Yet I
could not. Instead, I gripped the chair fiercely, and, by that very
act, pushed my fingers only more closely against her.
Was I dreaming--or did I feel an answering pressure, not once but twice
repeated. I was sure of it. I bent forward.
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