Then came another period in the conversation. It occurred to both that something yawned between them--a kind of abyss. Out of this abyss one saw his guilt arise.... A woman stood at his side. He had an accomplice. He had thrown the die, and he would stand stubbornly to it. His pride built yet another wall around him, impregnable either to protests or to sneers. He loved--that was recompense enough. A man will forgive himself of grave sins when these are debtors to his love.
As for the other, he beheld a trust betrayed, and he was powerless to prevent it. Besides, his self-love smarted, chagrin made eyes at him; and, more than all else, he recognized his own share in the Englishman's fall from grace. It had been innocent mischief on his part, true, but nevertheless he stood culpable. He had no business to talk to a woman he did not know. The more he studied the aspects of the situation the more whimsical it grew. He was the prime cause of a king losing his throne, of a man losing his honor, of a princess becoming an outcast.
“Your bride-elect,” he said, “seems somewhat over-hasty. Well, I'm off to bed.”
“No, John; whom the gods destroy they first make mad. You will come to your senses when it is too late.”
“What will you do if she breaks her promise?” adroitly evading the question.
“What shall I do?” He emptied the ashes from his pipe, and rose; all that was aggressive came into his face. “I will bind her hands and feet and carry her to the altar, and shoot the priest that refuses to marry us. O Maurice, rest easy; no woman lives who will make a fool of me, and laugh.”
This night it was the Englishman who sat up till the morning hours. Sylvia Amerbach.... A fear possessed him. If it should be, he thought; if it should be, what then?
Midnight in Madame's boudoir; no light save that which streamed rosily from the coals in the grate. The countess sat with her slippered feet upon the fender. She held in her hand a screen, and if any thoughts marked her face, they remained in blurred obscurity.
“Heu!” said Madame from the opposite side; “it is all over. It was detestable. I, to suffer this humiliation! Do you know what I have done? I have promised to be his wife! His wife, I! Is it not droll?” There was a surprising absence of mirth in the low laugh which followed.