For the first time some emotion showed itself in Joseph’s face. He started, as if he would rise; but leaned back again, resolute to control himself.
“You may question my honour, sir,” said Tiretta. “In the name of God, leave hers unsullied by a thought.”
Steadfastly, for some moments, the two regarded one another; then Joseph rose from his chair, and, walking to a window, stood looking out upon an inner court of the palace which it commanded. Presently, without turning, he spoke:
“You are very severe on princes, my friend; yet it seems they can be guileless in their trusts.”
“If, sir, by guileless you mean despotic, they are the most trusting souls on earth. So might we all be, if a wish with us overruled, without question, every possible or impossible objection. How can princes enter into common human feelings when they have had no least experience of them? To feel, one must suffer and be denied.”
“Do I not feel? I think I could convince you.”
“You feel for yourself, sir—I do not doubt it—in this disillusionment about one you had thought to be your true friend and servant.”
“I feel for you, Tiretta.”
He had turned as he spoke, and now came forward, until he stood face to face with the man who had wronged him. There was a look in his eyes strangely like compassion.
“Truly I can feel for you,” he said—“as for anyone who lets his heart go out towards the unattainable.”