Pale Rose [antikvár]

He was talking again, trying to comfort her. She found in him still the freshness, the nobility, the gentleness that had always stirred her, although here, in this prison, he was without his splendid trappings and his hard masculinity was apparent as it had not been before. She had not seen his hair unpowdered nor known that it was so dark; his eyes were fatigued, yet alive, burning."Mignonette," he murmured, "I have so much to say ""It is too late," she whispered, her throat aching."Never say those words, dear Anne." And he took her hand, and all that seemed solid of him were the firm cool fingers that clasped hers.I cannot go away, she thought madly, turning as if to beat on the heavy door. Dear God, I came to this wretched place to see another woman's husband, but I found here one whom I greatly love.AUTHOR'S NOTEThis story is sub-titled "a romantic tale" because it is not, in the strict sense of the term, an historical novel. That is, it does not deal with historical personages or events, though the background is authentic.But the author would point out that the adventures here related "really happened" to different people who lived through the closing years of the eighteenth century in France and that, though the story is fiction, the details of the narrative are not. These circumstances and episodes that have most the air of a fantastic fable are precisely those that have their origin in sober record.