She loved inconsequent laughter, and never
heard it at Tralee. She had crept from her bed and to the window, and
before he saw her, she had watched him with a look which slowly became an
awakening: as though curtains had been drawn aside revealing a new,
strange, ecstatic world.
Louise Mazarine had seen something she had never seen before, because a
feeling had been born in her which she had never felt. She had never
fully known what sex was, or in any real sense what man meant. This
romantic, picturesque, buoyant figure of youth struck her as the rock was
struck by Moses; and for the first time in all her days she was wholly
alive. Also, for the first time in his life, Orlando Guise felt a wonder
which in spite of the hereditary romance in him had never touched him
before. Like Ferdinand and Miranda in The Tempest, "they changed eyes."
A heavy step was heard coming through the hallway, and at once the
exquisite, staring face at the window vanished-while Orlando Guise turned
his back upon the open doorway and walked a few steps towards the gate in
an effort to recover himself. When he turned again to meet Mazarine, who
had a paper in his hand, there was a flush on his cheek and a new light
in his eye. The old man did not notice that, however, for his avaricious
soul was fixed upon the paper in his hand. He thrust it before Orlando's
eyes. "What you got to say to that, Mister?" he demanded.
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