“I am not acting now. I was when I first came to you yesterday; hoping or fearing I know not which or what. I have had to learn to act to play any part at will. To fawn, to coquet, to jest, to lure, to lie, to appear false when I was true, and true when I was false. A spy must learn these things—they are the tricks of the life. But I will not lie to you. That I promise you. I have told you all plainly that you may know me for what I am.”
I had risen in the hope of stopping her. “I beg you to say no more,” I said.
“I have not quite finished. Please sit again. I have to speak of you and Gatrina—the Queen’s advocate.”
“I would rather you say nothing.”
“I have a purpose in telling you the truth. You have to take a side either with or against me. If you are against me, I will fight you fairly—but I will use every weapon I have. I know that you came here to follow Gatrina; I know that you saved her; my instinct tells me why you followed her—and I tell you bluntly, she can be nothing to you.”
“I neither accept nor deny any conclusions you draw,” I said, with a smile.
“I need no confirmation from you. I have questioned Gatrina. I knew how it was with her before you came; and when I left your house yesterday, your dog gave me the clue to everything. We have agents even in Samac and Poabja, Mr. Bergwyn; and when your man Karasch was traced to your house—after a week spent in inquiries here in Belgrade—the rest was easy. The telegraph runs to Samac; and Poabja is but a short hour’s ride from there.”
“Why are you so bitter against the Princess?”
“I am not bitter against her—unless you force me. She must act in the Russian interest—that means she must marry Duke Barinski. But I have other motives, private and personal, far stronger than those of policy, that make me tell you you must not and shall not think of her.”
“And what do you seek from me?”