He wrapped them around her waist, holding her as she leaned against his chest, looking into his face. She reached up to stroke his rough cheek. “Are...you real?” “I sure hope so,” he laughed in his familiar Texan drawl. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, a sensation she had feared she would never experience again. His lips were firm and familiar and lingered for an eternity. He pulled away, his smile in place. “You tell me.” She threw her arms around his neck now, melding into his. De Blacas moved suddenly towards the baron, but the fright of the courtier pleaded for the forbearance of the statesman; and besides, as matters were, it was much more to his advantage that the prefect of police should triumph over him than that he should humiliate the prefect."Sire"--stammered the baron."Well, what is it?" asked Louis XVIII. The minister of police, giving way to an impulse of despair, was about to throw himself at the feet of Louis XVIII., who retreated a step and. More

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