Clementina

The Count Otto listened with his eyes as well as his ears; he hung upon

the words, shuddering at each danger that sprang upon Wogan, exclaiming

in wonder at the shift by which he escaped from it, and at times he

looked over towards his books with a glance of veritable dislike.

"To feel the blood run hot in one's veins, to be bedfellows with peril,

to go gallantly forward hand in hand with endeavour," he mused and broke

off. "See, I own a sword, being a gentleman. But it is a toy, an

ornament; it stands over there in the corner from day to day, and my

servants clean it from rust as they will. Now you, sir, I suppose--"

"My horse and my sword, Count," said Wogan, "when the pinch comes, they

are one's only servants. It would be an ill business if I did not see to

their wants."

The old man was silent for a while. Then he said timidly, "It was for a

woman, no doubt, that you ran this hazard to-night?"

"For a woman, yes."

The Count folded his hands and leaned forward.

"Sir, a woman is a strange inexplicable thing to me. Their words, their

looks, their graceful, delicate shapes, the motives which persuade them,

the thoughts which their eyes conceal,--all these qualities make them

beings of another world to me. I do envy men at times who can stand

beside them, talk with them without fear, be intimate with them, and

understand their intricate thoughts."

"Are there such men?" asked Wogan.

"Men who love, such as Count Königsmarck and yourself."

Wogan held up his hand with a cry.

"Count, such men, we are told, are the blindest of all. Did not

Königsmarck prove it? As for myself, not even in that respect can I be

ranked with Königsmarck. I am a mere man-at-arms, whose love-making is a

clash of steel."

"But to-night--this risk you ran; you told me it was for a woman."

"For a woman, yes. For love of a woman, no, no, no!" he exclaimed with

surprising violence. Then he rose from his chair.

"But I have stayed my time," said he, "you have never had a more

grateful guest. I beg you to believe it."

Count Otto barely heard the words. He was absorbed in the fanciful

dreams born of many long solitary evenings, and like most timid and

uncommunicative men he made his confidence in a momentary enthusiasm to

a stranger.