Lucille has become even as one of those flaxen-haired dolls of your mountain villages.

She has given her heart away, and she is sworn to perpetual constancy." The Prince smiled.
"The absence," he said, glancing up at the clock, "of that most fortunate person should surely count in our favour." Lucille followed his eyes.

The clock was striking ten.

She shrugged her shoulders.
"If the converse also is true, Prince," she said, "you can scarcely have anything to hope for from me.

For by half-past ten he will be here." The Prince picked up his cards and sorted them mechanically.
"We shall see," he remarked.