CHAPTER VI


MADEMOISELLE OF THE VEIL

The public park at night was a revelation to Maurice, who,
lonely and restless, strolled over from the hotel in quest of
innocent amusement. He was none the worse for his unintended
bath; indeed, if anything, he was much the better for it. His
imagination was excited. It was not every day that a man could,
at one and the same time, fall out of a boat and into the
presence of a princess of royal blood.

He tried to remember all he had said to her, but only two
utterances recurred to him; yet these caused him an exhilaration
like the bouquet of old wine. He had told her that she was
beautiful, indirectly, it was true; she had accepted his
friendship, also indirectly, it was true. Now the logical
sequence of all this was--but he broke into a light laugh. What
little vanity he possessed was without conceit. Princesses of
royal blood were beyond the reach of logical sequence; and
besides, she was to be married on the twentieth of the month.

He followed one of the paths which led to the pavilion. It was a
charming scene, radiant with gas lamps, the vivid kaleidoscope
of gowns and uniforms. Beautiful faces flashed past him. There
were in the air the vague essences of violet, rose and
heliotrope. Sometimes he caught the echo of low laughter or the