The young woman, Florence Ballau, nodded. De Medici stared excitedly at her. Her presence delighted and warmed him. An amazing woman. She wore her youth like a banner. Her gypsy face under a blue toque stamped itself like an exotic flower on the gray and yellow background of the crowd. Her lips were parted, her deep eyes were laughing darkly. De Medici restrained the ecstasy that threatened to start him stammering. She was tonic. Her body, luxurious and vibrant under the silver cloth of her dress, bewildered him. He was in love. But more than that, the flamboyant life of the girl, the gay and dominant poise of her manner, her voice, her head, exhilarated him in a curious way. A sense of awe came to him as he studied for an instant the exotically masked vigor of his companion. His own subtle and convoluted nature prostrated itself blissfully before her vivid dominance. “Let’s go to father’s office,” she said. He found it difficult to object. Nevertheless he blurted an objection. “Impossible.” “Well, why not just walk to the park and sit down?” she persisted. De Medici shook his head. “Damn it all!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to make love and I don’t want a lot of fat policemen walking up and down in front of me or a parade of squirrel-feeding old maids staring rebukefully. I’ve set my mind on a cab. It’s distinctly modern.” “But a fearful waste of money,” the girl smiled. “Ah,” De Medici murmured, “then you do love me.” “Of course,” she answered. They stood silently in the press of the crowds moving down Fifth Avenue, their fingers touching. De Medici’s eyes grew misty. He felt curiously at peace, as if he had escaped forever the dark things inside him. “We’ll take a cab, anyway,” he said finally. Then, as the girl raised her luminous face to him, he grew buoyant. He looked about him with a feeling of surprise. He had awakened from a bad dream. Prince Julien the cynical and tormented survivor of an evil race had vanished. Here was an ecstatic and humorous youth making love to a marvelous creature under the towers of a new civilization. “I’ve a lot of speeches I’ve always wanted to include as a part of my first and last proposal. We’ll get into a cab and I’ll propose.” He hailed a taxi and they entered. “Drive,” he smiled at the chauffeur, “slowly and carefully, anywhere you want.” The man nodded, grinned, and pocketed a bill. They were silent as the cab moved away. “Well,” said Florence at last, “you may begin.” De Medici looked at her. “I love you,” he whispered. “Will you marry me?” “You promised speeches,” she laughed. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, staring at her. “I can’t think of anything to say.”