“I thought this part of the matter had been definitely settled,” said Helga; and then for the first time a suspicion crossed my mind that the man was taking his cue from her.
He said quickly—
“So it has been.”
“Are you tired of your art, monsieur? If you were to marry the Duchess Stephanie your career must of course end. What, then, do you expect to gain in its place? Money? What is a million roubles”—I only just avoided saying a hundred thousand dollars—“to a man with your gifts? Do you seek place, power, influence? Let me remind you, you are forcing your way into a circle which will never receive you as an equal. Political influence will be impossible for you—the Emperor himself would be inflexible on that point. If I read you aright, you are a man with ambition and individuality; and neither ambition nor individuality is content to be a mere adjunct to a wife.”
“In America is not affection regarded as a possible basis of marriage, M. Denver?” asked Helga; and I turned with a smile to her.
“My kinswoman”—I made the slip intentionally and then corrected it—“the Duchess Stephanie is no longer so fascinating as in her youth, mademoiselle. I am only dealing with facts.”
“M. Denver has no wish to insult me or the Duchess, I am sure,” said Boreski, a suggestion of anger in his tone.
“Do I understand then that you are in love with the Duchess?”
“That is a point which, with all deference, I will not discuss,” he returned firmly; but despite his firm tone I thought I could discern evidence that I had struck home.
“M. Boreski is irrevocably pledged to the Duchess,” said Helga, “and in honour he could not draw back.”