“I told you,” she replied, with a kind of delicate directness. “My sister is maid-of-honour to the Queen Marie Leckinska, and as she is to be married I am going to take her place. But we are delayed, it seems. M. de Belleisle advises us to stay in the Hradcany till the spring.” “Prague,” said the Marquis, “is full of travellers and refugees. No one would willingly journey this weather.” “I would, save that we have lost our sledges, our horses, our servants, our escort. Sometimes it is colder than this in Russia.” “You will find it dreary in Prague, Mademoiselle,” said the Marquis kindly; “but when you reach Paris you will be recompensed.” She fixed her large, clear and light brown eyes on his face. “I told you I had heard what you said, Monsieur. Are you usually so indifferent to eavesdroppers?” “I said nothing that anyone might not hear--though not perhaps discuss,” he answered gently. “You mean you will not talk of these things to a woman!” she exclaimed quickly. “And I suppose I seem a barbarian to you. But perhaps I could understand as well as that young officer.” Her voice was slow and sad. “I come from an heroic and unfortunate country, Monsieur. I also have dreamt of glory.” Still he would not speak; her frankness was abashed before his gentle reserve. “I came here to attend Mass,” she said hurriedly. “There is Mass here? I have not been inside a church for many weeks.” “Service is held here and well attended,” he replied, “but it is yet too early.” She still kept her eyes on him. “My brother is finding lodgings--he is to meet me here. I will stay for the Mass.” The Marquis moved just outside the bronze gates so that the light of the green lamps cast a sea-pearl glow over his person. He was looking towards the high altar, and Carola Koklinska observed him keenly. He appeared older than his years, which were twenty-seven, and was of a delicate, though dignified and manly, bearing. A little above the medium height, he carried himself with the full majesty of youth and health and the perfect ease of nobility and a long soldier’s training. His face, in its refinement, repose, and slight hauteur of composure, was typical of his nation and his rank; his expression was given a singular charm by the great sweetness of the mouth and the impression of reserved power conveyed by the deep hazel eyes, which were of a peculiarly innocent and dreamy lustre--not eyes to associate with a soldier, incongruous, indeed, with the stiff gorgeous uniform and the pomaded curls that waved loosely round his low serene forehead. The details of his dress were fashionable and exquisite: he wore diamonds in his neckcloth and his sword-hilt was of great beauty. His manner and whole poise were so utterly calm that the Countess Carola felt it difficult to associate him with the ardent voice that had spoken to Georges d’Espagnac. He had put her very completely outside his thoughts. She winced under it as if it were a personal discourtesy.