"I am his most faithful and humble subject," returned the man,
whimsically.
She was studying his face openly, while her own countenance--unschooled to
hide emotions, untrained to deceive--frankly betrayed each passing thought
and mood. The daintily turned chin, sensitive lips, delicate nostrils, and
large, blue eyes,--with that wide, unafraid look of a child that has never
been taught to fear,--revealed a spirit fine and rare; while the low,
broad forehead, shaded by a wealth of soft brown hair,--that, arranged
deftly in some simple fashion, seemed to invite the caress of every
wayward breath of air,--gave the added charm of strength and purpose. The
man, seeing these things and knowing--as few men ever know--their value,
waited her verdict.
It came with a smile and a pretty fancy, as though she caught the mood of
the novelist's reply. "He has told me so much about you--how kind you are
to him, and how he loves you. I hope you don't mind that he and I have
learned to be good friends. Won't you tell me his name? I have tried
everything, but nothing seems to fit. To call such a royal fellow,
'doggie', doesn't do at all, does it?"
Conrad Lagrange laughed--and it was the laugh of a Conrad Lagrange unknown
to the world.
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