for a year of love. Well, in eighteen months there was an end. But
do you fancy, Seraphina, that my heart has altered?'

'I am sure I cannot tell,' she said, like an automaton.

'It has not,' the Prince continued. 'There is nothing ridiculous,
even from a husband, in a love that owns itself unhappy and that
asks no more. I built on sand; pardon me, I do not breathe a
reproach - I built, I suppose, upon my own infirmities; but I put my
heart in the building, and it still lies among the ruins.'

'How very poetical!' she said, with a little choking laugh, unknown
relentings, unfamiliar softnesses, moving within her. 'What would
you be at?' she added, hardening her voice.

'I would be at this,' he answered; 'and hard it is to say. I would
be at this:- Seraphina, I am your husband after all, and a poor fool
that loves you. Understand,' he cried almost fiercely, 'I am no
suppliant husband; what your love refuses I would scorn to receive
from your pity. I do not ask, I would not take it. And for
jealousy, what ground have I? A dog-in-the-manger jealousy is a
thing the dogs may laugh at. But at least, in the world's eye, I am
still your husband; and I ask you if you treat me fairly? I keep to
myself, I leave you free, I have given you in everything your will.
What do you in return? I find, Seraphina, that you have been too
thoughtless. But between persons such as we are, in our conspicuous
station, particular care and a particular courtesy are owing.
Scandal is perhaps not easy to avoid; but it is hard to bear.'

'Scandal!' she cried, with a deep breath. 'Scandal! It is for this