"All is over," she muttered.
He still held her; she made desperate efforts to release herself from his grasp, but could not succeed.
"Is it thus you thank me for saving your life?" said he. "Luckily, I was forewarned of the walk you meant to take to-night, and I followed you, to preserve you from danger. Do you suppose that your every word and movement are not faithfully reported to me? Do you suppose that I did not know your mad plan to deliver your lover, or provide him with the means to escape my vengeance?"
"Release me, wretch!" groaned Fatkoura, struggling.
"No," said the Prince; "you shall remain in my embrace. Your touch enchants me. I am determined to love you, whether you will or no. Still, I will make one last attempt to win your affection. Give me your love, and I will let you carry Nagato the sword which you stole from one of my soldiers."
"That offer is quite worthy of you!" said Fatkoura, with disdain.
"You refuse?"
"The Princess of Nagato will never dishonor her name."
"Then you must give up that weapon," said the Prince, himself drawing it from Fatkoura's bosom. "You might escape me by death, which would distress me sorely. Consider my offer; you have until to-morrow to decide. Up to the hour of the execution, at which you will be present, it will be in your power to procure your husband a more easy death."
The Prince then led her back to the palace, where he left her. She was so overwhelmed by terror and despair that it seemed to her she no longer existed. She fell into a troubled sleep; but all the hideous creations of her feverish dreams were less horrible than the reality. When she waked, her first thought stopped the beating of her heart, and bathed her brow in cold perspiration.