It is a
strong position that."
Lucille raised her head and regarded the last speaker steadily.
"And I, Prince!" she exclaimed, "I say that he will come because
he is a man, and because he does not know fear."
The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer bowed low towards the speaker.
"Dear Lucille," he said, so respectfully that the faint irony of
his tone was lost to most of those present, "I, too, am of your
opinion. The man who has a right, real or fancied, to claim you
must indeed be a coward if he suffered dangers of any sort to stand
in the way. After all, dangers from us! Is it not a little absurd?"
Lucille looked away from the Prince with a little shudder. He
laughed softly, and drank his liqueur. Afterwards he leaned back
for a moment in his chair and glanced thoughtfully around at the
assembled company as though anxious to impress upon his memory all
who were present. It was a little group, every member of which
bore a well-known name. Their host, the Duke of Dorset, in whose
splendid library they were assembled, was, if not the premier duke
of the United Kingdom, at least one of those whose many hereditary
offices and ancient family entitled him to a foremost place in the
aristocracy of the world. Raoul de Brouillac, Count of Orleans,
bore a name which was scarcely absent from a single page of the
martial history of France.
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