You are too good and
beautiful to--"
"I shall always look upon you as the kindest of men!" she cried
impulsively, and left him.
He stood watching her slender, graceful figure as she moved down the
sloping path and turned into the broad avenue. A smallish man with a
lean face came up from the opposite direction and stopped beside him.
"Could you resist her, Quinnox, if you were twenty-two?" asked this
man in his quiet voice.
Quinnox did not look around, but shook his head slowly. "I cannot
resist her at sixty-two, my friend. She is adorable."
"I do not blame him. It is fate. _She_ is fate. Our work is done, my
friend. We have served our country well, but fate has taken the matter
out of our hands. There is nothing left for us to do but to fold our
arms and wait." Gourou revealed his inscrutable smile as he pulled at
his thin, scraggly moustache. He was shaking his head, as one who
resigns himself to the inevitable.
After a long silence Quinnox spoke.
"Our people will come to love their princess, Gourou."
"Even as you and I, my friend," said the Baron.
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