And, as I said nothing, "I hadn't quite considered it in that light,"
she said. "I thought my motives were pure. Besides, I really am
hereditary Duchess of Naxos--if ever there is to be such a Duchy again."
She laughed a little. "A phantom ruler in a phantom realm. It must
amuse you, Michael."
"It may all come to pass," said I.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Monsieur Venizelos does not wish it. Nor does the King of Italy. Also
I am afraid that Naxos is really quite contented under the Greek flag,
now that Constantino is exiled and because, moreover, that same flag
flies beside the flags of England, France, and Italy.... No, Michael,
there will be no revolution now in Naxos; no Duchy, no Duchess.... And,"
she rose and looked at me, and stretched out one fair hand, "come into
France with me, Michael.... I can't leave my heart here with you unless
I stay here, too.... I can't become disembodied and float off to France
leaving heart and mind and body and soul here--in your arms--in the arms
of the man I--love.... Can I, dear Michael?--_Can_ I my dear lover?--my
dearest--my beloved----"
Her fragrant, flushed face was close against mine when we heard Smith's
trunk banging in his room and Raoul's voice: "Easy, _mon vieux_! _Mon
dieu_, but it's heavy, your Norwegian-American luggage."
"Darling!" she exclaimed in consternation, "you're not packed up!
Quick, Michael! I'll help you----"
"Thusis, I don't want this junk! Do you know what I am going to take
with me?"
"What, darling?"
"My poems to you; the portrait of the Admiral; and my photograph of The
Laughing Girl.... And nothing else whatever."
I picked up the photograph from my dresser as I spoke and slipped it
into my breast pocket.
"Are we to start housekeeping with the portrait of the Admiral and your
heavenly poems of which I never before heard?" she exclaimed, enchanted.
"Not housekeeping," I said smiling, and drawing her into my arms.
"Aren't we going to keep house, Michael?" she asked, her surprised eyes
uplifted to mine.
"After the war," said I.
For a full minute she stood gazing at me. Then:
"I understand." And she offered her lips for the first time to any man.
And for the first time I kissed her.
"Yes," said I gaily, "I join Pershing. Or the Legion, if the Yankees
won't take a Chilean----"
Smith rapped loudly on my door:
"Is Thusis there?"
"She is," said I.
"Did she persuade you to come with us?"
"She did."
"Good business!" cried Smith. "Is your luggage ready?"
"It is."
I handed Thusis my poems, unhooked the portrait of the Admiral, and
tucked it under one arm.
Thusis pinned on her distractingly smart little hat, turned, flung both
arms around my neck.
"There may be the deuce to pay for this in Italy," she whispered. "Oh,
Michael! Michael! I adore you!"
Half way down the corridor a door opened and the queen's head in curl
papers was thrust out. When her hard eyes fell on us she stiffened for
an instant, then the celebrated Hohenzollern sneer twitched her
features:
"Your _housekeeper_!" she hissed.
And Thusis threw back her beautiful head and the silvery laughter of The
Laughing Girl filled the house with its exquisite melody.
"Oh Michael, Michael!" she said, "they'll be the death of the world
after all--the boche!--for we'll all perish of laughter before we're
done with them!"
And we went gaily on downstairs, my poems clasped to Thusis' breast, the
Admiral's portrait under my left arm, and the lovely little hand of
Thusis in mine--for ever, God willing--for ever and a day.