Leopold bent forward to launch this thunderbolt, his brown hands on his knees, his eyes eager. The memories, half bitter, half sweet, called up by his own words, caused Virginia to appear more beautiful, more desirable even than before.
He was delighted with the expression of the Chancellor’s face. “Now, what arguments have you left?” he broke out in the brief silence.
“All I had before—and many new ones. For what your Majesty has said shows the lady more ambitious, more astute, therefore more dangerous than I had guessed. She staked everything on the power of her charms. And she might have won, had you not an old servant who wouldn’t be fooled by the witcheries of a fair Helen.”
“She has won,” said Leopold. Then, quickly, “God forgive me for chiming in with your bitter humor, as if she’d played a game. By simply being herself, she has won me—such as I am. She’s proved that if she cares at all, it’s for the man, and not the Emperor, since she called the offer you think so magnificent, an insult. Yes, Chancellor, that was the word she used; and it was almost the last she said to me: which is the reason I’m traveling to-day. And none of your boasted ‘proofs’ can hold me back.”
“By Heaven, your Majesty must look upon yourself from the point of view you credit to the girl. You forget the Emperor in the man.”
“The two need not be separated.”
“Love indeed makes men blind, and spares not the eyes of Emperors.”
“I’ve pledged myself to bear with you, Chancellor.”
“And I know you’ll keep your word. I must speak, for Rhaetia, and your better self. You are following this—lady to give her your Empire for a toy.”
“She must first accept the Emperor as her husband.”