"
He was a good story-teller. It was a crisp narrative he made.
"A veiled lady," she mused. "What would you say if I told you that your
mystery is no mystery at all? I am the veiled lady. And the person I
went to see was my old nurse, my foster-mother, with whom I spent the
happiest, freest days of my life, in the garret at Dresden. Pouf! All
mysteries may be dispelled if we go to the right person. So you are to
be recalled?"
"I have asked for my recall, your Highness."
"And so Dreiberg no longer appeals to you? You once told inc that you
loved it."
"I am cursed with _wanderlust_, your Highness." He regretted that he had
not remained in the ball-room. He was in great danger.
"You promised to tell me what she is like." Suddenly all his fear went
away, all his trepidation; the spirit of recklessness which had vised
him a little while ago again empowered him. He was afraid of nothing.
His face flushed and there were bright points of fire in his eyes. She
saw what she had roused, and grew afraid herself. She pretended to
become interested in the Watteau cupids on her fan.
"How shall I describe her?" he said. "I have seen only paintings and
marbles, and these are inanimate. I have never seen angels, so I can not
draw a comparison there.
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