274 IN A WINTER CITY.
he drew the furs over her gold-laden skirts, his
head bore lower and lower, and his Ups touched
her hand and her arm.
" The sun is up. I never am so late as this,"
she said, as though she did not feel those kisses ;
but, by the clear Ught of the day-dawn, he saw
the blood mantle over her throat and bosom, and
the tremulous shadow of a smile move her mouth.
The horses sprang forward; he stood on the
lower step, grave and lost in thought.
"Is it too early to offer feUcitations, my friend? "
said the Due de St. Louis, passing to go home¬
ward ; he had been playing whist aU night.
" I do not understand you," he answered, with
the tranquil falsehood of society.
The question annoyed him deeply. He loved
tliis woman with aU the tenderness and passion
of his temperament, and loved her the more for
the ascendency he had gained over her and the
faults that he sav/ in her; he loved her generously,
truly, and with pm-er desfre than most men.
Yet what would his love for her ever look to the
world ?—since he was poor.
MeanwhUe she, with her fafr hafr ti»mbled