‘In acknowledgment of thy love!’ cried the machine scornfully. ‘It was not so—thy love never entered my thought.’
‘Whose then?’
‘Geometrus,’ said the instrument, in Mercia’s soft voice.
‘Geometrus!’ scoffed the machine in the Emperor’s tones. ‘And dost thou place that poltroon before me? Am I to be flouted for him?’
‘His love is honourable, and thine is not; therein lies the difference, my Sire,’ the voice of Mercia replied in a propitiating tone; as if to win the monarch over to give consent to her marriage with Geometrus.
‘But my love shall be made honourable, Mercia, I will get a divorce, and thou shalt fill the Empress’ place. Aye, and fill it far away better than she has ever done! I hate her—curse her!’ Then followed a grating noise as if the Emperor were grinding his teeth in fury at the thought of his marriage fetters. A painful feeling spread itself through the Court; the Empress became the cynosure of all eyes: her face turned deathly white; a minute later she had fainted, and was carried away from the scene that jealousy had prompted her to witness.
‘But I cannot rob another woman of her husband: I would not defraud the meanest in thy realms, still less thine Empire’s highest lady!’ uttered the machine in pure clear tones.
A suppressed murmur of applause greeted this avowal, but the machine went on heedless of interruption.
‘It is not robbery, Mercia, she doth not own my heart, and never did! I was cozened into the marriage by my cousin Osbert—curse him, for a meddling fool!’
‘He did it, doubtless, for the best. The whole of thy Cabinet approved, so did the nation. It is a new thing for me to learn that our Emperor lives unhappily with his spouse—I cannot understand it.’