Moreover, your peril is not a blind peril only, but a blind man's peril.

Ye must choose, and that quickly, little son--fingers or lips." I heard the rustle of a skirt down the stair.

It was the light, springing tread of the one I loved first and best, last and only.
"By the twelve gods, lips!" cried I, and made for the door.
And I heard the chuckling laughter of High-Chancellor Dessauer behind me as I followed Helene down the stairs.

It sounded like the decanting of mellow wine, long hidden in darksome cellars, and now, in the flower of its age, bringing to the light the smiling of ancient vineyards and the shining of forgotten suns.
I found Helene arrived before me in the rose-garden.

She did not turn round as I came, though she heard me well enough.