"But you would not drink from a real skull?" said Beatrice.
"It would add to the effect," smiled Lorelie.
"Drink from a real skull? Ah, how horrid!" exclaimed Beatrice.
In reciting the words of the wronged and indignant Queen, Lorelie had caught the genuine spirit of the character: and now, inspired by the idea of becoming its exponent upon the stage, she rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling as with the light of future triumph.
As she stood upon the hearth in statuesque pose, she seemed to be the very queen of tragedy, to be breathing, as it were, the air of vengeance; a spirit so contrary to her usual sweet self that Idris did not like to witness its assumption, however suitable it may have been to the character of the fierce Rosamond.
"I can see the eyes of the theatre riveted upon me," she murmured, picturing to herself the future representation of her drama, "as I enter the banqueting-hall of the Lombard chiefs, and advance to drink from the fatal cup! How the audience will thrill as they watch! How awful the silence as Rosamond places her lips to her father's skull!"
She illustrated her words by taking the antique vase from the mantel and going through the action of drinking from it, shuddering as she did so; though whether her shudder was mere simulation, or a real thing occasioned by the supposed nature of its contents was more than Idris could tell.
"And when the hour for vengeance came, I would rise to the height of the occasion, and strike down Alboin—so!"
Drawing from her hair a long and gleaming hairpin shaped like a stiletto, she went through the motion of stabbing an imaginary figure.