"It is enough—and nothing less could have been enough from you to me and from me to you," he said gently. "Unless we live it together, I think it can be no life for us now."
The chain which had held Marie Zerkovitch motionless suddenly snapped. She rushed into the room, and, forgetful of everything in her agitation, seized the Prince by the arm.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "What do you mean? Are you mad?"
He was very fond of little Marie. He looked down at her now with an affectionate, indulgent smile.
"Come, you've heard what I said, I suppose—though it wasn't meant for your ears, you know! Well, then, I mean just what I said, Marie."
"But what do you mean by it?" she persisted in a feverish, almost childish, excitement. She turned on Sophy, too. "And what do you mean by it, Sophy?" she cried.
Sophy passed a hand across her brow. A slow smile relieved the enchanted tension of her face; she seemed to smile in a whimsical surprise at herself. Her answer to Marie came vague and almost dreamy. "I—I thought of nothing, dear Marie," she said; then with a sudden low murmur of delighted laughter she laid her hands in the Prince's again. She had thought of nothing but of that life together and their love.
"She'll share my life, Marie, and, when the time comes, my throne," the Prince said softly: he tried to persuade and soothe her with his gentle tones.
Marie Zerkovitch would not have it. Possessed by her old fear, her old foreboding, she flung away the arm she held with an angry gesture. "It's ruin!" she cried. "Ruin, ruin!" Her voice rang out through the old room and seemed to fill all the Castle of Praslok with its dirgeful note.
"No," said he firmly. "Ruin will not come through me, nor through her. It may be that ruin—what you call ruin—will come. It may be that I shall lose my life or my throne." He smiled a little. "Such changes and chances come as nothing new to a Stefanovitch. I have clever and bold men against me. Let them try! We'll try, too. But ruin will not be by her fault, nor through this. And if it were, don't I owe her my life already? Should I refuse to risk for her the life she has given?" He dropped his voice to homelier, more familiar tones, and ended, with a half-laugh: "Come, little friend, you mustn't try to frighten Sergius Stefanovitch. It's better the House should end than live on in a coward, you know."