perhaps for
that.... She closed her eyes on agonising vistas. Swift as thought she
had snatched a bright dagger from the weapons that shone along the wall.
Ay, she would escape. From that world-wide theatre of nodding heads and
buzzing whisperers, in which she now beheld herself unpitiably martyred,
one door stood open. At any cost, through any stress of suffering, that
greasy laughter should be stifled. She closed her eyes, breathed a
wordless prayer, and pressed the weapon to her bosom.

At the astonishing sharpness of the prick, she gave a cry and awoke to a
sense of undeserved escape. A little ruby spot of blood was the reward
of that great act of desperation; but the pain had braced her like a
tonic, and her whole design of suicide had passed away.

At the same instant regular feet drew near along the gallery, and she
knew the tread of the big Baron, so often gladly welcome, and even now
rallying her spirits like a call to battle. She concealed the dagger in
the folds of her skirt; and drawing her stature up, she stood
firm-footed, radiant with anger, waiting for the foe.

The Baron was announced, and entered. To him, Seraphina was a hated
task: like the schoolboy with his Virgil, he had neither will nor
leisure to remark her beauties; but when he now beheld her standing
illuminated by her passion, new feelings flashed upon him, a frank
admiration, a brief sparkle of desire. He noted both with joy; they were
means. "If I have to play the lover," thought he, for that was his
constant preoccupation, "I believe I can put soul into it." Meanwhile,
with his usual ponderous grace, he bent before the lady.

"I propose," she said in a strange voice, not known to her till then,
"that we release the Prince and do not prosecute the war."

"Ah, madam," he replied, "'tis as I knew it would be! Your heart, I
knew, would wound you when we came to this distasteful but most
necessary step. Ah, madam, believe me, I am not unworthy to be your
ally; I know you have qualities to which I am a stranger, and count
them the best weapons in the armoury of our alliance:--the girl in the
queen--pity, love, tenderness, laughter; the smile that can reward. I
can only command; I am the frowner. But you! And you have the fortitude
to command these comely weaknesses, to tread them down at the call of
reason. How often have I not admired it even to yourself! Ay, even to
yourself," he added tenderly, dwelling, it seemed, in memory on hours of