She dropped her eyes--then picked up a cigarette case from the table.
"Will Your Royal Highness smoke?" she asked.
"If you will light it for me."
(The Princess pressed my hand. I understood.)
Mrs. Spencer touched the cigarette to the tiny alcohol name; then
offered it to the Duke.
"Someone has spoiled you," she said lightly.
Lotzen took her hand and, with it, put the cigarette between his lips.
"Unfortunately, no," he answered. "But I once saw a pretty woman do
that for another man."
(Again Dehra pressed my fingers.)
"And did he hold her hand afterward?" she asked--freeing her own from
the Duke's.
"They were not alone," he said--and tried to take it again.
But she put both hands behind her.
"Come, Your Highness, this is not the Masque," she said. But there was
no reproof in her tones.
"Tell me," said he; "how did you know me, last night?"
"What matters it? Particularly, since it was only because you knew me
that you spoke."
"You think I was searching for you?" he asked.
She blew a cloud of smoke under the lamp shade and watched it float out
at the top.
"Were you?" she asked.
"If I said yes, would it please you?"
"Not unless I thought it true, monsieur--and, also, knew the reason.
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