Take a scene from her life and his.  A bright, beautiful summer day, when, with a large party of friends, they had gone down to Richmond.  When dinner was over, and the sweet, soft gloaming lay over the earth, Lady Amelie left the room, where the guests were lingering over the wine and grapes, and went out into the balcony that overlooked the green park and the smooth, clear water.

Seeing that, and feeling tired of the conversation, Basil followed her.  She was leaning over the stone balustrade, and the green foliage wreathed round the balcony formed a beautiful frame-work for a lovely picture.  He went up to her, and stood in silence by her side.

“How different these two worlds are!” she said.  “The world in there, all heat, noise and frivolity; the world out here, so calm, so grand and still.  Look at the shadow of the trees in the water!  Look at the floating clouds of rose-colored light in the sky!”

But he thought nothing in that outside world so beautiful as she herself.

“Are you found of German stories?” he asked her, suddenly.

“Yes, some of them.  I like the mystery and the spirituality, the poetry and the romance.”

“I read a book of Fouque’s last night that charmed me—­Minstrel Love.  Do you know it, Lady Amelie?”

“No,” she replied; “tell me what it is.”

“Only the history of a poet-knight who loved the lofty Lady Alcarda.  She lived with her husband, a German warrior, in an old castle, and the poet was her knight.

“Do you know, Lady Amelie,” he whispered, “that book made me ambitious?”

“Of what?” she asked.

“Dare I tell you?  The Lady Alcarda was beautiful, gifted, pure of heart and soul, lofty and spiritual—­like you,” he added, passionately, “and she accepted the poet’s service—­she made him her knight.”

“There are no knights in these days,” she said, half sadly.

“Ah! let me prove to you that you are wrong.  You are like Lady Alcarda.  Let me be your knight.  I would be content to serve you in all chivalry, and in all honor, until death, if you would reward me with a kind word and a smile.”

His handsome young face looked so eager, so wistful, that the coquette’s heart smote her for one half moment.  Knowing what was before him, was it not too cruel to lead him on?  But the short-lived feeling of compunction soon died.  She bent her head and the perfume of the flowers she carried reached him.

“Would you be my knight?” she said; “would you go through danger and peril to serve me?”

“I would die for you,” he replied, simply; “quite content, if you smiled on me as I died.”

“Do you mean it, without any romance or nonsense?  Seriously, would you, to serve me?”

“Yes:  and count all loss as gain.”

“Then you shall be my knight, my friend.  I am not a queen.  I have no sword to lay on your shoulder, but I place my hand in yours, and I accept your loyal service.”