"See, this is our moon," said the lady, "and as she waxes, so will our love wax--but now she is young and fresh and fair, like it. Come, my Paul. Let us go to our house; soon we shall dine, and I want to be beautiful for you."
So they went in to their little hotel.
She was all in white when Paul found her in their inner salon, where they were to dine alone, waited on only by Dmitry. Her splendid hair was bound with a fillet of gold, and fell in two long strands, twisted with gold, nearly to her knees. Her garment was soft and clinging, and unlike any garment he had ever seen. They sat on a sofa together, the table in front of them, and they ate slowly and whispered much--and before Paul could taste his wine, she kissed his glass and sipped from it and made him do the same with hers. The food was of the simplest, and the only things exotic were the great red strawberries at the end.
Dmitry had left them, placing the coffee on the table as he went, and a bottle of the rare golden wine.
Then this strange lady grew more tender still. She must lie in Paul's arms, and he must feed her with strawberries. And the thought came to him that her mouth looked as red as they.
To say he was intoxicated with pleasure and love is to put it as it was. It seemed as if he had arrived at a zenith, and yet he knew there would be more to come. At last she raised herself and poured out the yellow wine--into one glass.
"My Paul," she said, "this is our wedding might, and this is our wedding wine. Taste from this our glass and say if it is good."
And to the day of his death, if ever Paul should taste that wine again, a mad current of passionate remembrance will come to him--and still more passionate regret.
Oh! the divine joy of that night! They sat upon the balcony presently, and Elaine in her worshipping thoughts of Lancelot--Marguerite wooed by Faust--the youngest girl bride--could not have been more sweet or tender or submissive than this wayward Tiger Queen.
"Paul," she said, "out of the whole world tonight there are only you and I who matter, sweetheart. Is it not so? And is not that your English word for lover and loved--'sweetheart'?"
And Paul, who had never even heard it used except in a kind of joke, now knew it was what he had always admired. Yes, indeed, it was "sweetheart"--and she was his!