"If there be one spark of pity in your soul," she said, in a voice trembling with tears, "do not leave me in this terrible state of uncertainty; give me some tidings of my husband!"
"I am afraid to sadden you still more, by telling you tidings delightful to me, though wretched for you, since you are my enemy."
"Go on, I conjure you!" cried the terrified Fatkoura.
"Well, then, the Prince of Figo's army, ably seconded by my men, has triumphed over the Prince of Nagato, who fought bravely, I must acknowledge. At this moment he is probably a prisoner. The latest bulletin informs me that, with barely a hundred men, Nagato intrenched himself in a small grove; my troops have surrounded him, and escape is impossible."
Fatkoura bent her head in utter despair. He conquered! She could not believe it; she could not imagine him unhappy. In her eyes he was always triumphant, he was foremost,—the noblest, the handsomest of all; besides, how could he be a prisoner, when he might escape captivity by death? She raised her eyes to the lord of Tosa, doubting his words.
"You are hiding the truth from me," she said, with a look of painful intensity; "you hope to prepare me for the fatal blow,—he is dead!"
"I have spoken frankly," said Tosa; "he will be taken alive. But I would give you one piece of advice,—forget that fellow," he added, irritated by Fatkoura's distress.
"Forget him! I!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands.
"You must; all is over for him. Do you think that I would let him go free,—the man whom Hieyas detests so much that he will raise any one who shall rid him of that foe, to the foremost rank in the empire; the man who humbled us all by his luxury, his wit, his beauty; the man whom you love, and who is my rival?—for I love you."
"You love me!" cried Fatkoura, in horror.