The Princess had sunk back on the sofa. Her eyes were still fixed on the door through which her son had departed, dreamily, as though she could not, would not, realise the scene which had just taken place.
"I have ever judged him by his father," said she, speaking, as it were, to herself. "The error will be avenged on us all. He has shown me now that he is not--not such as his father was."
"He has shown you more than that. You have always been so proud, aunt, that Leo has your features. He has inherited little of your character--for that you must look to his brother. It was your own energy which faced you just now, your own inflexible will--your own look and tone even. Waldemar is more like you than ever Leo was."
Something in the young Countess's voice aroused the Princess's attention. "And who taught you to read this character with such unerring sureness? Was it your animosity which made you see clearly there where we were all at fault?"
"I do not know," replied Wanda, casting down her eyes. "It was more instinct than observation which guided me; but from the first day I felt that we had an enemy in him."
"No matter," declared the Princess, resolutely. "He is my son; there is no escaping that fact. You are right. Today for the first time he has proved that he really is akin to me; but, as his mother, I will show myself equal to him."
"What will you do?" asked Wanda.
"Accept his challenge. Do you think I shall yield to his threats? We shall see whether he will really proceed to extremities."
"He will, depend upon it. Do not speculate on any soft relenting in this man. He would unsparingly offer up you, Leo, all of us, to that which he calls right."
The Princess scanned her niece's face with a long scrutinising look. "Leo and me, perhaps," she answered; "but I know now where his strength will fail him. I know what he will not offer up, and it shall be my care to bring him face to face with that at the decisive moment."