"By working for my country and for yours. This I swear by your sweet eyes--by your dear mouth that hurt me so cruelly that evening--I swear it by the damnable agony which you made me endure . . . by the abject cowardice which dragged me to your side now like a whining wretch that craves for a crumb of comfort . . . by all that you have made me suffer. . . . Crystal, I swear to you that I was never false . . . false, great God! when with every drop of my blood, with every fibre of my heart, with every nerve, every sinew, every thought I love you." The voice was so low, never above a whisper, and all around her Crystal felt again that delicious sense of warmth--the breath of Love that brings man's heart so near to God--the sense of security in a man's all-encompassing Love which women prize above everything else on earth. The music was just an accompaniment to that low, earnest whispering; the soft strains of the violins made it still seem like a voice that comes through a veil of dreams. Instinctively Crystal began to hum the waltz-tune and her little head with its quaint coronet of fair curls beat time to the languid lilt. "Will you dance with me, Crystal?" "No! no!" she protested. "Just once--to-night. To-morrow we fight--let us dance to-night." And before she could protest further, her will seemed to fall away from her: she knew that her father, her aunt would be angry, that--as like as not--Maurice would make a scene. She knew that Maurice--to whom she had plighted her troth--had branded this man as a liar and a traitor: her father believed him to be a traitor, and she . . . Well! what had he done to disprove Maurice's accusations? A few words of passionate protestations! . . . Did they count? . . . He wore his King's uniform--many careless adventurers did that these strenuous times! . . . And he wanted her to dance . . . ! how could she--Crystal de Cambray, the future wife of the Marquis de St. Genis, the cynosure of a great many eyes to-night--how could she show herself in public on his arm, in a crowded ballroom? Yet she could not refuse. She could not. Surely it was all a dream, and in a dream man is but the slave of circumstance and has no will of his own. She was very young and loved to dance: and she had heard that Englishmen danced well. Besides, it was all a dream. She would wake in a moment or two and find herself sitting quietly among the roses with Maurice beside her, telling her of his love, and of their happy future together. VI But in the meanwhile the dream was lasting. Her partner was a perfect dancer, and this new, delicious waltz--inspiriting yet languorous, rhythmical and half barbaric--sent a keen feeling of joy and of zest into Crystal's whole being. She was not conscious of the many stares that were levelled at her as she suddenly appeared among the crowd in the ballroom, her face flushed with excitement, her perfect figure moving with exquisite grace to the measure of the dance.