Quickly she looked up at
me with eyes half closed.
"How cold your hand is, Armand," she said.
"Does it chill you, dear?" I whispered.
She smiled. "It never could do that," she answered. "But won't you
sit beside me, now?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I said reluctantly. "Only, I'm nearer you as I
am."
Then I took my chair, drawing it a trifle in the rear, so, being
obliged to lean forward, I would be closer to her and could speak
softly in her ear.
"You're very bold, Armand; you are always doing things so publicly,"
she said.
"It was an accident--at first."
"And afterward, sir?"
"Afterward, I was powerless."
"My arm would not believe you."
"Powerless to remove my hand, I mean."
"Powerlessness, with you, has queer manifestations," she said.
"Yes--sometimes it's passive and sometimes active."
"It was active, I suppose, that day in the King's cabinet, when you
gave me that cousinly kiss."
"If we were not so public I would----"
She looked at me with the most daring invitation. "It is because we
are so public that you are permitted to sit so near."
"Then, why blame me if I take the only opportunities you give me?" I
asked.
She half closed her eyes and looked at me, side-long, through her
lashes.
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