‘He, doubtless, did it 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.’
‘I never felt the chains gall till now, Mercia. A quiet indifference kept me content until thy beauty set my heart a-beating with a new joy. I knew not love till mine eyes dwelt upon thy loveliness, and mine ears listened to the words that flowed from thy lips like a sweet, rippling fountain, whose waters gave forth a pure, clear, life-giving stream. Yes, I have drunk therein, and am filled with new emotions—new joys—new hopes—new life!’ He clasped his hands in an ecstasy of happiness, as at that supreme moment he gave rein to the powerful impulses that swayed him.
‘Now is my beauty an evil thing, and a curse to me!’ cried Mercia, at the moment bowing her head in deep dejection, and hiding her face in her hands.
‘Would I had never been born, or that nature had shaped me uncomely, for then this misfortune could not have overtaken me! Two men desire me, and I may not have either. I must live in a world filled, like a garden with flowers—flowers and blossoms of love; yet I may not touch them; their fragrance is not for me; not one may I wear on my breast! Yet, they nod and beckon me to pluck them: they offer me the incense of their being, and would fain spend their full fragrance upon me; for their desire is to nestle on my bosom, and give me the joy of their beauty and love.’
She spoke as one entranced, who ignoring all listeners felt naught of the presence of another. For the moment her anguish was her only companion, which the presence of Felicitas could not restrain. It was the bursting wail of a heart kept long in subjection and unnatural restriction, which now claimed its rights. Thus did the longing for love bring sorrow to Mercia, such sorrow as she had never before tasted.
As Felicitas gazed upon the beautiful woman standing before him in an attitude of grief and despair, her head bowed down, her arms outstretched, showing the contour of her perfect form, he felt as one in a dream—a ravishing dream that inspired every sense with a deliciousness he had never before experienced.
On his enraptured ears her words fell like the music of a poem, for the full, rich, melodious timbre of her voice lent to them a peculiar charm: their pathos melted him; their sweetness enchained him.
Seized anew with the intoxication of his passion he sank on his knees before her; his whole frame quivered with emotion, while the varying tones of his voice testified how greatly the torrent of his passion swept through his soul.
‘Mercia, Mercia, give me thy love!’ he cried impetuously; ‘take me, my beloved, spurn me no longer, for without thee I am as one dead! As a world without sun, having no life, nor warmth, I shall go on my way darkened for ever. Take me into the sunshine of thy love; give me new life, dearest. Resuscitate and refresh me with the joy of thy beauty; and let us drink of the wine of love’s pleasures for ever. Then shall we two learn how good it is to love; how sweet it is to be together; how delightful the blending of two souls made satisfied with their own companionship.’
As one in a dream Mercia listened to his passionate outpourings; she drank in his words as gratefully as the parched earth a summer’s shower; but her mind was with Geometrus. In imagination she was with him, listening to the pent-up eloquence that his soft dark eyes daily expressed.