"O sister, does this little heart love so strongly, so fervently, so genuinely? Speak freely at last. Not a single word during all these days have you--" "I could not! I was so ashamed for myself, and, alas! for him. And I dare not speak of my love! It is a disgrace and shame. For he, my bridegroom,--no, my husband,--does not love me!" "Indeed he does love you, or why should the reckless noble have wooed you so humbly?" "Alas, I do not know. Hundreds of times during the last few days have I asked myself that question. I do not know. True, I believed--until the day before yesterday--it was from love. And often this foolish heart believes it still. But, no, it was not love. Caprice weariness--perhaps," and now she trembled wrathfully, "a wager,--a game that he desired to win and which lost its charm as soon as he succeeded." "No, my little dove! Thrasaric is incapable of that." "Oh, yes, oh, yes!" Eugenia sobbed despairingly. "He is capable of it." "I do not believe it," said the Princess, and, sitting down beside her, she lifted the forsaken little bride into her arms as if she were a child, dried her wet cheeks with the folds of her own white mantle, stroked her burning lids, smoothed her tangled hair, pressed the little head to her soft bosom, and rocked gently to and fro, saying soothingly: "Everything will be well again, little one, and soon; for he does love you. That is certain." A suppressed sob and a slight shake of the head said, No! "Certain! I do not know, nor do I wish to know, what that woman hissed into your ear. But I saw how it wounded you, like a poisoned arrow. Whatever it may be--" "I will never, never, never tell!" the girl fairly shrieked. "I do not wish to know, I told you. Whatever his guilt may be, the Christians have a beautiful saying: 'Love beareth all things.'" "Love beareth all things," murmured Eugenia. "But, of course, love only. Tell me, little sister, do you really love him?"