ned Benoni coolly, as
though he were discussing a general principle instead of expounding to
a woman the fate she had to expect if she refused to marry him. "I
never knew anyone who did not talk bravely of resisting torture until
it was applied. Oh, you will be weak at the end, countess, believe me.
You are weak now; and changed, though perhaps you would be better
pleased if I did not notice it. Yes, I smile now,--I laugh. I can
afford to. You can be merry over me because I love you, but I can be
merry at what you must suffer if you will not love me. Do not look so
proud, countess. You know what follows pride, if the proverb lies
not."

During this insulting speech Hedwig had risen to her feet, and in the
act to go she turned and looked at him in utter scorn. She could not
comprehend the nature of a man who could so coldly threaten her. If
ever anyone of us can fathom Benoni's strange character we may hope to
understand that phase of it along with the rest.

He seemed as indifferent to his own mistakes and follies as to the
sufferings of others.

"Sir," she said, "whatever may be the will of my father, I will not
permit you to discuss it, still less to hold up his anger as a threat
to scare me. You need not follow me," she added, as he rose.

"I will follow you, whether you wish it or not, countess," he said,
fiercely; and, as she flew across the court to the door he strode
swiftly by her side, hissing his words into her ear. "I will follow
you to tell you that I know more of you than you think, and I know how
little right you have to be so proud. I know your lover. I know of
your meetings, your comings and your goings--" They reached the door,
but Benoni barred the way with his long arm, and seemed about to lay a
hand upon her wrist, so that she shrank back against the heavy
doorpost in an agony of horror and loathing and wounded pride. "I know
Cardegna, and I knew the poor baroness who killed herself because he
basely abandoned her. Ah, you never heard the truth before? I trust it
is pleasant to you. As he left her he has left you. He will never come
back. I saw him in Paris three weeks ago. I could tell tales not fit
for your ears. And for him you will die in this horrible place unless
you consent. For him you have thrown away everything,--name, fame, and
happiness,--unless you will take all these from me. Oh, I know you
will cry out that it is untrue; but my eyes are good, though you call
me old! For this treac