“There is no choice, Prince Carlo. You would never be happy should you not go back.”
“But why?” he argued. “To what do I go back? Surely not to happiness?”
“No,” she answered, sadly. “You go back to—honor.”
“To honor,” he admitted, and then muttered, “and to death.”
Her hand pressed his with feverish force. “Death is better than——” She paused suddenly.
“Than what?” he exclaimed.
“Death,” she said, firmly, “is better than disgrace.”
Prince Carlo sank back in his seat, his face white against the cushions.
“You speak the truth,” he murmured, restlessly. “I really have no choice. To stay here is dishonor, to return is death. God help me!” His words sounded more like a groan than like a prayer.