The service of the benediction going on in the church below furnished him with the figure of what came to him from her as she laid up her thoughts on an altar before that mysterious intimation of maternity which presages in right women the movement of passion.

He felt himself caught up in it purely above all sense of his personal insufficiency.
Back in his hotel after dinner he found he had still to let the roses answer for him as he sat out on his balcony and realized oddly that though he had no right to go to Miss Dassonville again until he had thought out to its furthermost his relation to her, he could, incontinently, think better in her company.
It was not wholly then with surprise, since he felt himself so much in need of some compelling touch, that he heard, after an hour of futile battling, the Princess speak to him.
She stood just beyond him in the shadow of the wistaria that went up all the front of the balcony, and called him by his name.
"Ah," said Peter "I know now who you are.

You are the one who stayed." "How did you find out ?" "Because the one who ran away was the one he would have married." He did not look at the Princess, but he saw the shadow of her that the moon made, mixed with the lace of the wistaria leaves, tremble.
"Well," said she, "and what are you going to do about it ?" "You know then... ?" "I was there on the water with you this morning....

It was I that showed you the way, but you had no eyes for anything." It was the swift recurrent start of what he _had_ had eyes for that kept Peter silent long enough for the Princess to have asked him again what he was going to do about it, and then---- "The other night--with the music--she knew that I was there ?" "Oh--she!" He was taken all at once with the completeness with which in his intimate attitude to things, Savilla did know.

"She knows everything." "What was there so different about the other one ?" "Everything ...