He paused. The clock-tower of the Sumaroff Palace chimed the hour. “One o’clock!” said Princess Marie—to use the name favoured by her—speaking with a sort of dismay in her voice. “I have stayed too long. I must return, Lord Courtenay, will you escort me to the ballroom, and there—there we must part.” “Part! We have but just met. If we part, when are we to meet again?” “Never, I fear.” “Never is a hard word.” “Do you think it is not hard for me to say it?” murmured the Princess, as she rose to her feet, evidently bent on going. “Stay, Princess. You have not yet redeemed all your promise. There is your present name, and—the—the kiss.” “You will not let me off?” “I kept _my_ word, Princess. Will you not keep yours?” As Wilfrid rose to his feet she receded a pace or two, with hands put forward as if to keep him off. “What pleasure will you have in a kiss given on compulsion?” “Shall you give the kiss, then, from no other feeling than to get rid of the duty?” “In what other spirit should I give it?” “If the Princess can give only a reluctant kiss, let her give none at all.” Princess Marie hesitated for a moment. “I ... I will keep my promise,” she said. “But not ... not here ... on the open terrace. There ... in the shadows. It is death if ... if we are seen!” Wilfrid took her little hand—how it trembled!—within his own, led her across the terrace, and stood beside her under the gloom of the pine trees. “It was not stipulated that you should wear a mask,” said he. She withdrew her vizard, revealing her beautiful face, made more beautiful by the sweet colour that mantled it. She looked round on all sides to make sure that no one was within sight. Satisfied that they were alone she turned to Wilfrid. Never had he so trembled as at this moment when the Princess set her hands lightly upon his shoulders and looked him full in the face with eyes that, striving to be bold, were yet full of timidity. Her lovely face drew near to his; he caught the fragrance of her breath; their lips met in a kiss, given on her part with a warmth that could spring from but one feeling. The tender glance of her dark-blue eyes told him, as plainly as words, what place he held in her heart. Moved by an uncontrollable impulse he clasped her in his arms. She did not resent the action; on the contrary she clung to him in that wild, sweet, thrilling embrace that comes but once in a life-time. “Princess!” he whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, “you love me—is it not so? I will not let you go back to your old life. You must come with me—” “Oh no, no!” she gasped, seeking to unwind his arms. “My God! what am I doing? Lord Courtenay ... let me go.... Do not tempt me.... This ... this cannot be!” “Why not?” She gave a wild laugh. “You would not ask, if you knew me. I am the—”