“And you will be pleased when it is taken?”
Pauline was silent.
“She is gliding on towards wrong, and you are letting her! You can stop her by a word of warning, and yet will not! Pauline!”
Marie could not have spoken with more touching earnestness had she been pleading her own cause. Involuntarily Pauline turned from the look of disapproval in those grave, innocent eyes.
“If the Czarina,” said Pauline—and none knew better than she the sophistical character of the self-justification she was now attempting, “if the Czarina knew that a hundred eyes were secretly on the watch for her fall, she would of necessity be virtuous. But why should she, more than other women exposed to similar temptation, be put on her guard? Respect for her fair name, the memory of her altar-vows, the imperial diadem itself, should each be a sermon to her. To warn her would be to put her into a state of enforced virtue. Why should Alexander retain a wife willing to go wrong but kept in the right only by the fear of discovery? No! let her be tried by the fire of temptation. She must fulfil her destiny, as I must fulfil mine.”
The Princess was silent, not knowing very well how to refute what she felt to be sophistry. No wonder Pauline was anxious to keep the matter a secret from Wilfrid! The knowledge of it might lead him, with his sense of honour, to decline any longer the hospitality of a hostess so questionable in her ways.
“You may gain a crown, but you will not gain a hero,” said Marie with a touch of scorn. “A man who sets spies to watch his wife, and, before his suspicions are verified, promises to wed another woman, cannot be a very honourable character.”
In her haste Marie forgot that the same charge was equally applicable to her hostess. Pauline felt the point of the rebuke.
“I cannot imagine Lord Courtenay acting so,” continued Marie proudly.